Long Time Coming
by Helen C
Summary: It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.
1. Prologue

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 and Mick1997 for the time they spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Prologue

_Today_

"We have a problem," Saul said. Adama's only answer was a sigh. It would have seemed a waste of energy to react any other way.

Yes, they had a problem. Of course they had a problem.

There was always a problem to fix, a crisis to deal with, decisions to make to ensure their survival.

Sometimes it was the Fleet running from the Cylons. Sometimes it was the Fleet deciding to settle down on an unexplored planet. Sometimes his pilots burned out, died in battle or asked for retirement, unable to go on, and needed to be replaced. Sometimes…sometimes, Bill wondered why he still bothered.

Too many problems to fix, too little time and frankly, he was growing hard pressed to bring himself to care about all these voices clamoring for his attention. From Tigh to the President—the newly appointed President, a middle-aged man named Michael Ripley—from the Marines to the CIC crew, it seemed that no one spoke to him anymore unless they needed his opinion, his guidance.

Saul was still waiting, flopped on a chair in front of his desk. Adama braced himself. "What is it this time?"

He may not care, but he had to look like he did. He was the leader of humanity—not the President, not _this_ President, who didn't have Roslin's charisma or her faith or any of the things that had made her a good leader and a friend. No, it fell back to Bill—the man who had saved them all the day of the attacks and had protected them every day afterwards.

Leaders didn't have the luxury to burn out. 

"Another civilian ship reported attempted sabotage," Saul said. His brow furrowed deeper than usual. "We've increased military presence pretty much everywhere, but—"

"But there are only so many of us left," Adama completed, cutting him off. "And the ships are full of places where terrorists can hide and plant bombs, to disrupt activities or hurt people."

Most days, the Cylons weren't their biggest problem anymore, and if that wasn't frakked up, then Adama didn't know what was. They needed to rely on each other to survive, but most people didn't seem to understand that, or to care. After all, the military or the President's office would always be around to fix their problems, so why should they try to think and act like civilized human beings?

_We're not a civilization anymore. We're a gang, and we're on the run._

Yes, his son had called it.

Bill could still grow infuriated when he thought about the trial and the way Lee had, once again, stuck to his guns and chosen to deal with the situation in his own way. But he had been more right than he had been wrong in that regard.

Their civilization was gone, and the thin social values that had kept them all together at the beginning (_We'll rebuild because that's what humans do. We'll survive because that's what humans do. We deserve to be saved, because we're humans and humans just are worth saving_) were slowly disappearing, forgotten in their struggle to survive.

Saul's voice brought him back to the matter at hand. "Yes." He needlessly looked down at the report he was holding. Saul always knew exactly what was in the reports he summarized to Bill. Come to think of it, he probably remembered every report he had ever given to Bill. "We don't even know where to start," he said. He huffed impatiently. "I don't know what these people hope to accomplish. It's not as if we didn't have enough on our plates already."

Adama could have blamed it on general discontent, but he knew they were way past that. There were factions now, among the civilians. Some wanted to continue to Earth, others wanted to settle down on the next habitable planet, even after New Caprica. Some still thought that keeping running was the only thing to do. It seemed that every day, the arguments were growing more bitter, the fights a little more fierce.

People were tired of surviving, tired of living on crowded ships, tired of looking for Earth.

How many civilians would accept to surrender now, if the Cylons promised that no harm would be done to them? How many civilians would accept to live in cages if it meant they could stop running?

Far too many for Bill's taste.

The last two years had been particularly hard for everyone—food shortages, water shortages, fabric shortages and constant lookout for the Cylons.

Things weren't _much_ worse than immediately after the attacks. It was the duration that was killing hope, little by little.

The Cylons weren't even playing to win anymore. They just dropped in from time to time, engaged the Galactica and the rest of the fleet into a nerve-wracking battle and then left. They were wearing the humans down, and it was working.

"What do we do?" Tigh asked.

Bill rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Send people who can act as civilians and be convincing," he said. "Tell them to ask questions. Discreetly. We'll see how that goes."

He didn't expect it to go well. People were wary of strangers, and that tactic had been tried before to control the black market, to no avail.

Everything seemed to move out of his control, and he didn't like it.

Tigh nodded smartly and got to his feet. "Anything else?"

Bill didn't reply, waving a hand in dismissal. He barely noticed his XO stepping out of the room, closing the hatch behind him.

He was tired and for the first time in his life, he was starting to feel his age. But trying to keep the fleet together wasn't what was weighing the most heavily on his mind.

His son hadn't tried to contact him in over a year. Bill didn't blame him; after all, he was the one who had started to ignore Lee's openings. He couldn't blame his son for stopping trying to reach out after a while, but he regretted that his own stubbornness and Lee's pride had driven them to this point. (Or was it his pride and Lee's stubbornness that had damaged their relationship so? The thought could have been funny if the circumstances had been different. In the end, the fact that they were both alike had driven them apart in a way even Zak's death hadn't managed. It _could_ have been funny, but the irony just hurt a little more each day).

He had thought that after the end of their worlds, he and Lee had found some common ground, some way to relate to each other.

It was only when Lee had resigned his commission, five years ago, that Bill had realized it wasn't so. He had felt hurt and betrayed, and yes, maybe he should made more of an effort to understand Lee's motivations, but he hadn't. Back then, he had just assumed that Lee was opposing him for the sake of opposing him, and it had hurt to see that they were still stuck in that situation.

Even when Bill heard that Dualla had left Lee, he didn't consider that his son was truly sincere in his convictions. Even when Lee had handed him his letter of resignation, at the end of the trial, he hadn't reconsidered his position.

He should have realized then that Lee had lost just about everyone in that trial—his wife, the President, the respect of the crew. And his father, because once again, anger had gotten the better of Bill and he had said things he didn't really think, even though he knew that his son wouldn't remain on the Galactica much longer. And even though he knew that Lee's memory was formidable and that he wouldn't forget the words spoken in anger and frustration.

The rift it had created between him and his son was probably one that couldn't, _wouldn't_ be repaired, now.

A knock on the hatch startled him from his thoughts.

_What now? _he thought, trying to prepare himself for whatever problem lurked outside. "Come in."

He was surprised to see Racetrack enter and stand at attention a few feet from his desk. It had been years and he still vaguely expected to see either Lee or Kara report to him in their flight suits. Not Racetrack, or Helo, or even Athena.

He missed his family, and the fact that he only had himself to blame for losing it only complicated the situation.

"Sir," she said.

"At ease," he ordered, mostly out of habit. "What can I do for you, Major?"

She met his gaze and he saw the worry in her eyes. Strange. Racetrack was usually formal and to-the-point, the ultimate professional, when she dealt with him. She seemed too intimidated by him to be anything else.

He didn't try to be as close to his crew as he once had. Too many of them had disappointed him, or worse, had died. He just didn't feel it was worth the time and energy to learn to love them. It was just easier to keep a distance. Maybe he was finally starting to understand why Cain had ruled with such an iron fist on the Pegasus. She may have been alone, but he was reasonably sure she hadn't agonized over each of her decisions, each of the men she lost, each of her failures.

"Sir, Hotdog and I were on the Orion, on leave," she said.

Bill carefully kept his expression neutral, but he could feel his heart rate pick up. Over the years, the Orion had become the new Cloud Nine of the fleet—constant goings in and out, comfortable accommodations and, it was said, a lot of black market dealings. It was a place where people could unwind for a while, and rent a room for a few days if they wanted a change of scenery. Bill hadn't been sure it was such a good idea to have such a ship in the fleet, considering what had happened to the first Cloud Nine, but he couldn't deny that people needed a place where they could have fun and relax.

Unfortunately, the place was also a very good place to disappear, much as Cloud Nine had been, which had already hindered several of their investigations in the past.

It was also, more importantly, the ship where Lee lived with his family.

"Yes," he said, when Racetrack paused.

She swallowed and visibly steeled herself. "When we got back to the Raptor, there were two kids. One is about two, the other is ten. They said they needed to talk to you."

Well, that explained why Racetrack looked so peeked, then. That was certainly an unusual request, and one that didn't ease his bad feeling. He didn't think too many kids would ask for him personally.

His worst fears were confirmed when Racetrack added hesitantly, "Sir, they say they're your grandchildren."

* * *

TBC 


	2. Part 1 Chapter 1

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 and Mick1997 for the time they spent beta'ing this!

**AN3.** In reply to David Archerfish's comment, thanks, I'm glad you're hooked, and no, they're not going to reach Earth in this fic...

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

**PART ONE**

Chapter 1

_Five years ago_

There was always a time in a fight when getting hit stopped to hurt; it took a while but eventually, shock and adrenaline numbed the sensations and the pain grew distant and fuzzy. It was a strange thing, to be feeling the blows, knowing that they should hurt, but feeling no pain.

_"I won't serve under a man who thinks I have no integrity."_  
_"Good. I don't want a man under my command who doesn't have any."_

Lee had reached that stage a while ago—maybe when he had opened the envelope ten minutes ago, maybe when Starbuck's Viper had exploded in front of him, maybe at the funeral, or at some point during the trial, or… Well, he couldn't remember when he had grown numb, when he had stopped paying attention to the pain. It had just happened. 

_"Son, if it was you, we'd never leave."_

He should try to patch things up with Dee, try to save his marriage again, try to explain to her that he had made the only decision he could live with, but he lacked the energy to do so.

_"Get your fat ass out of my office!"_

He should try to talk to his father. The longer he waited, the worse it would be. He and his father both wallowed in their anger too easily.

The Adamas' ability to bear a grudge was the stuff of legends.

_"I don't have anything to say to my CAG."_

All he did, though, was stare at his hands. He had grown used to seeing his wedding band, to feeling the metal against his skin.

He had grown used to having his father around, impossible as it may have seemed three years ago.

_"Remember that, son, when you take command of the Pegasus."_

He sighed.

He was tired of fighting—the Cylons, the system, his father, himself.

He was tired of paying the price for being who he was.

_"Good. I don't want a man under my command who doesn't have any."_

He was tired, but he just couldn't leave without trying one last time.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Two years after the trial, Lee's friends took him out, got him drunk and made him talk, and he told them that at the time, he had thought that his relationship with his father couldn't possibly sink any lower than it had when his father had called him a liar and a coward. And in the silence that followed, he added quietly that he had been wrong.

There wasn't a huge fight, the last time they spoke before Lee left the Galactica—and his life—behind. They didn't yell. They didn't shout at each other, they didn't try to punch each other's lights out. They were both too weary and too dispirited for any of that.

From the moment his father greeted him with a cold, "Have you come to get your commission back?" to the moment when he left the Galactica, Lee operated on auto-pilot. He was numb, anaesthetized, and it was certainly a good thing considering the circumstances.

"Do you want to give it back to me?" he asked in the same tone his father had used. _Too alike and too different,_ Kara used to say about them. 

His father snorted, pouring himself a drink, and for a brief moment, Lee was uncomfortably reminded of his mother.

Frak. He didn't need that today.

"I don't know," his father said, his voice flat. Neutral.

The silence between them stretched well beyond Lee's comfort zone. Maybe, at long last, they were finally accepting that their differences had created a rift impossible to bridge.

To William Adama, life was all about sides—even more so these days than before the mutiny. To Lee, life was about fighting for what was right, whether that meant standing by Roslin's side or exposing her as an unreliable witness.

And maybe Lee should have remembered how personally his father took these things. Actually, if he wanted to be honest with himself, he _had _remembered; simply, he couldn't just stand by and watch Baltar summarily executed when every fiber of his being was screaming at him that it was unfair. He would never have been able to look at himself in the mirror again.

When his father spoke again, his tone was still eerily cold. "I cut you a lot of slack because you're my son. But this…"

_A lot of slack? _Lee almost snapped back. _Because I'm your son, you expect me to be like you, to obey blindly, to always side with you, even when you're wrong, even when you want to assassinate people you don't agree with. People who scare you. _

But he knew that any other commander wouldn't have thought twice about executing him after the mutiny. Lee may have been pissed that his father had made him stand in the CIC, shackled for everyone to see, but he knew he had escaped lightly. _Would you have killed someone else, Dad? Was that a favor you did me?_ It was true that a soldier had to obey orders; the superior officers were usually allowed more leeway (no one wanted to lose valuable insight by enforcing the rules too strictly), but mutiny in war time was a capital offense, no matter the circumstances. So yes, in a way, he supposed his father had been merciful.

And anyway, that was all a long time ago. They had found many other ways to disagree since then.

"You don't trust me anymore," he said instead. "You never trusted me to know what I'm doing." _Either as a man or as an officer under your command. You think I'm a coward and a liar who has no integrity. I'm not Zak and I'm not Kara and we both know I'm not officer material, at least according to your standards._

His father sighed. "No. I'm sorry, but no."

_That's okay, Dad. I'm not sure I trust you anymore, either, as my commander. But the sad part is, I used to, at some point. _

"And most of the men won't either, after what you did."

His father wouldn't meet his eyes, staring blankly at the wall, the floor, anything but him, and Lee snapped. Seemed that he could still managed anger, after all—low key, bitter anger, sure, nothing like the explosions from _before_, but anger nonetheless. "Why don't we leave the men out of it, Dad? We both know they have nothing to do with this."

_And it doesn't matter anyway because they won't have to see me again. You know what? I want out, Dad. I never planned on making a career in the military, I never wanted to see you shot in front of me, never wanted to be the one to abandon civilians to the Cylons. I never wanted any of this. _

He hadn't been so sure before entering this room, but now he was. He couldn't work with his father if things were going to be this way, and his father obviously didn't want him under foot either.

"I don't know what to say," his father said then, and Lee saw it: the moment when his father gave up on him, stopped trying to understand him. "Just…leave, if that's what you want."

Funny, Lee had thought he was numb to the pain before coming here.

He had been wrong. He could still hurt. 

Not much, but _enough_.

It was one thing to give up his life in the military; he had never been too attached to it, all things considered. But losing what little was left of his family this way made him feel like… well, like Kara's death had—like another chunk of him had gone missing.

He didn't know if there was much of him left now.

"Fine," he said, because he wasn't about to beg his father not to end things this way—not when he knew his father would see it as yet another sign of weakness.

He left the room without a goodbye or a look back and went straight to his quarters. The envelope—the divorce papers—were still on the bed where he had put them before leaving. 

He briefly considered trying to find Dee, talk to her. Ask her to stay. For all he knew, that was what she expected him to do.

_"Leave, if that's what you want."_

He didn't have the strength to open himself up for rejection like that again, though; if that made him a coward, so be it.

He looked around, trying not to think about the good times they had had, trying not to think about life on the Pegasus and how hopeful they had been about the future then. He signed the divorce papers and sealed them in an envelope, refusing to apologize for not being his father, for still believing in a system she thought was dead.

He packed up his quarters; it didn't take long. Most of his clothes were uniforms and he couldn't take them with him. The few civilian clothes he owned fit into a backpack—the same kind of backpack he had carried to school every day as a teenager.

He didn't know anyone but military personnel. He had no friends, no family, no job and no place to live. No more expectations weighing down on him. No one watching him to see if the son of the great William Adama was as good as his father or was indeed the black sheep of the family. No Captain Apollo having to rush to the rescue.

He would have thought he would feel freer, lighter without all the expectations weighing him down. 

He didn't.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Two nights later, when he collapsed on all fours in a corridor on the Boreas, Lee thought that starting over was definitely overrated.

Obviously, many people on the fleet were just as pissed with Baltar's lawyers as his father was, and even less shy at expressing it.

One of the five men working him over kicked him below the ribs and Lee curled up, wrapping his arms around his midsection, gasping for air. He wasn't sure they'd stop before he died, he wasn't sure he cared anymore. He just wanted it to stop, one way or another.

It took him a while to realize that the blows had stopped coming, and even longer to hear past the buzzing in his ears and recognize the characteristic sounds of a fight around him. He opened an eye long enough to see that several men—how many? He couldn't tell, was way too beaten to count—were taking on his attackers. He saw someone approach him and closed his eyes, exhausted. Good guy or bad guy, it didn't seem to matter.

He could almost hear Kara snap, "I can't believe you." But Kara had lost all rights to criticize his decisions when she had died and he ignored the feeling that wherever she was, she was getting ready to kick his ass.

Maybe, in the end, fighting so hard to survive this long had been a stupid waste of time and energy.

Lee had to admit that lying down and drifting off was a lot easier.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Of all the things Lee had expected upon waking up—with a throbbing, nauseating headache pulsing around his temples—seeing Romo peering down at him wasn't one of them.

"I still think we should call a doctor," he heard someone say in the background.

A female voice replied, softly, "You know they won't come if it's not life or death, and he'll live."

Romo wasn't saying anything, just studying Lee the way he would an uncooperative witness.

Lee blinked and tried to look around. "No!" he heard, but it was too late. Nausea washed over him and he felt himself hoisted up and guided to his side as he retched uncontrollably.

Then, everything faded to black again.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Don't try to move," Romo said the next time Lee opened his eyes. Lee obeyed and kept still, waiting for the ceiling to stop spinning before turning his head in the direction of Romo's voice, slowly, carefully. To his relief, the headache wasn't as fierce as it had been last time.

Romo was sitting at a table, a few feet from the bed, a book in hand and a deep frown on his face. "Welcome to the civilian fleet," he said, and for some reason, Lee found that very funny.

He started to laugh, quietly at first then increasingly loudly, gasping as his ribs protested under the strain they were put under.

When he was done, a glass of water appeared in front of his face as if magically summoned. "Thanks," he said, accepting it with shaky hands.

"I'm not helping you drink, Mister Adama," Romo said. "So try not to spill."

Lee didn't spill, though it was close. "Call me Lee," he said, handing Romo the empty glass.

Romo grunted.

"What…?" Lee asked, trailing off in the face of the many questions he wanted to ask.

"We're on the Orion," Romo said, in a bored tone. Lee nodded carefully, relieved when the movement didn't seem to cause too much pain. He had heard rumors about the Orion slowly evolving into a hotel ship, in recent months, but he had never set foot on it before. He hadn't known that was where Romo lived, had never bothered to find out.

"Some people I once helped out of a situation were on the Boreas for business. They walked in on you getting your ass kicked, and since they don't like five-on-one fights, they intervened."

_They shouldn't have,_ Lee thought. Romo shot him a glance and for a brief, horrible moment, Lee was sure he had said that out loud. Then, Romo went on in the same conversational tone, "They recognized you from the news reports and for some reason, they decided to make you my problem."

Lee thought about apologizing, or offering to make himself scarce, but he it wasn't his fault that those assholes had decided to use him as a punching bag and he was pretty sure he wouldn't even be able to sit unassisted, let alone leave the room and find a place to live, so he didn't say anything at all.

When he met Romo's gaze again, he saw the concern in his eyes and looked away quickly.

"You're welcome to stay here until you find a place to stay."

"Might take a while," Lee said. "I don't think I'm gonna win any popularity contests any time soon." _Who the frak would hire me anyway?_

Romo shrugged, seemingly unaffected. "I hope you're not allergic to cats," he retorted, closing the debate.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It took Lee two days to be able to get out of bed, and another five days to be able to go out of Romo's quarters. The bruises were slowly fading but people still sent him sideway glances as he made his way to the Orion's captain's quarters. "If you plan on living here," Romo had told him, "he might know of job openings. It's not strictly his business, but he's the kind of man who keeps his ear pretty close to the ground."

Lee didn't really plan on living here. He didn't really plan on going anywhere else either, and he sure as hell wasn't going to take Romo's charity for longer than he had to.

Part of him wanted to call the Galactica and try to talk to his father again.

_"Just leave if that's what you want."_

But he couldn't risk getting shut down, couldn't risk getting hurt again. 

_Later, _he thought. Maybe distance would help.

_Yes, because it worked so well last time…_

And maybe with time, he'd stop hearing Kara's voice every time he made a decision, good or bad.

_They've been mostly bad so far, Apollo._

_Shut up._

It wasn't until much later that it occurred to him that part of the reason why he had stayed was because Romo lived here, and Lee was reluctant to find himself in a place where he didn't know anyone. Starting over was all well and good and he didn't have a choice but to adapt, but doing so all alone required more strength than he had left.

The captain looked him over, said, "I'm not sure what I can offer to a former Viper pilot. The only thing open right now is work with the maintenance crew—they never stay long. But right now, we have all the crew we need." He thought for a moment, staring off into the distance, and Lee kept quiet.

He had never been in this situation before. He had gone from student to cadet, then to officer. Someone had always decided where his next assignment would be and he never had any say in it. He was over thirty and this was the first time he was actually looking for a job—now, years after the destruction of the Colonies. If that wasn't funny, he didn't know what was.

"There may be other opportunities later, but if you're in a hurry, I can get you in touch with some of the civilians," the captain added, bringing him back to the problem at hand. "I know a group of them are trying to build a bar."

When nothing followed that declaration, Lee said, "A bar?" He was aware that he sounded as if he had never heard the word, but he couldn't for the life of him see what that had to do with anything.

"If you feel like helping the men transform one of our storage areas into a bar, feel free. And once that's done, if it works and it doesn't prove more trouble than it's worth, there'll probably work there too."

He looked puzzled, but not offended, when Lee started to laugh.

* * *

TBC 


	3. Part 1 Chapter 2

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 and Mick1997 for the time they spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Chapter 2

_Four years ago_

"How are things going on the Galactica?" Lee asked.

"Fine." An uncomfortable silence followed, one that Lee didn't feel particularly inclined to break. Then his father spoke again. "How are things for you?"

"Fine." He wasn't going to admit to his father that he worked in a bar—he knew what the Great Admiral Adama would say about that.

It was their third conversation in over a year, and it got worse every time. The only thing that was left, the only thing that wasn't likely to send one or both them flying into a blind rage, was small talk. And even that was touch and go. 

Lee didn't dare talk about his life when he knew his father didn't think he was living up to his frakking potential as a vaunted Viper pilot. His father didn't talk about much of anything at all—was he as wary as Lee felt, or was it just that he couldn't find a way to relate to a son who was now a civilian? After all, his father had joined the military when he was eighteen, and he didn't really remember how to deal with people who weren't soldiers anymore.

Maybe that was why they hadn't gotten on well when Lee was a teenager. It seemed that once they weren't both in the military, they didn't have anything to say to each other. And maybe he should have considered that before he left. Now that his father wasn't his superior officer anymore, all that remained between them was their father/son relationship—the one that had been virtually non-existent at the time of the attacks.

His father sighed and looked away—weary? Impatient to go back to his duties? Regretting that he had come at all? Lee resisted the urge to do the same. Perhaps trying to patch things up was a mistake. Wouldn't it be better for them both if they stayed on their respective sides of the fleet and didn't try to get in touch anymore?

His father got to his feet. "I should probably go. There are lots of things I need to do."

Once upon a time, Lee would have tried to hold him back. Today… What would have been the point? It seemed that even innocuous topics of discussion weren't helping anymore.

"Yeah," Lee said.

Things between them wouldn't be fixed by talking about insignificant subjects and neither of them was anxious to broach the hard ones—the ones that had driven them to this point.

He got up and he and his father looked at each other for a beat, then his father nodded and left and Lee sat back down, drained. They had spent all of seven minutes in the same room and he felt like sleeping for a week to recover from the impact.

He had thought that with time and distance, things would get clearer, that they would be able to at least speak to each other without screaming again, at some point. Sadly, it seemed that the time apart only solidified their estrangement. On the plus side, there was no yelling involved. There wasn't much of anything involved.

Lee would have liked to think that eventually they'd be able to repair things, but tonight he wasn't so sure. Both he and his father were stubborn, hard men, angry and uncommunicative, and their shared worst flaws were what had destroyed their relationship.

_You better fix this, Apollo. Or else…_

There had been a time, not so long ago, when Lee would have listened to that tone and known he should really listen to Kara.

But that time, too, was gone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She walked up to him as he was listening to yet another patron whining in his ale about his love trouble or his boss or whatever the hell he was talking about; Lee had tuned him out long ago.

"Hi," she said as his depressed costumer was catching his breath. "Ambrosia, please?"

He poured her a drink with a quick apology to the man and followed her a few seats to the left, relieved that she was allowing him to distance himself from the black cloud hanging over the unlucky lover/employee/whatever.

"Hard night?" she asked with a sympathetic smile.

"Definitely." He handed her the drink and started to turn away.

"Aren't you going to ask me what a lonely girl like me is doing in such a dive?"

"This isn't a dive," he shot back. 

"Fine." She sipped her drink, making a show of thinking the possibilities over. "How about telling me your own tale of woe and explaining to me what such a handsome guy does in such a dive?"

"Do you have two weeks of free time?" he retorted and she smiled again. She had a nice smile, he thought. He could almost believe that she was sincere.

He hadn't even tried to date since getting on board (a fact that was owing him a lot of teasing on the part of his friends), but he wasn't so out of practice that he didn't recognize she wanted something from him.

"Come on," his client said, her smile widening. 

"What do you want?" he asked tiredly before he could stop himself. It had been two weeks since his last talk with his father, and he was still trying to get over it. Not much amused him these days, and flirting with a stranger, no matter how attractive, didn't seem worth the effort.

Her smile faded. "Didn't fool you, huh?" She shook her head, looking around. "I need to work on my routine."

He waited for an elaboration. He didn't have to wait long.

"I work as a private investigator."

Lee held his first reaction—"We still have those?"—in check. "Yes?"

"One of my clients got some goods stolen." She took another sip of her drink, smiling appreciatively. "I was wondering if you heard your patrons talk about anything that might help."

Lee shook his head. "Sorry. Most people don't talk about their illegal activities in front of me." For many of the civilians, he was still wearing a uniform. The seediest men avoided him like the plague, which suited Lee just fine.

She looked disappointed, but unsurprised. "I thought so, but I wanted to give it a shot anyway, just in case." She finished her drink. "Well, if you do hear something, maybe you could call me?"

He shrugged. "What's your name?"

"Samantha Dillinger. I stay on the third deck. Just ask for me; everyone knows me." She got to her feet. "And by the way," she concluded, "I was here for business, but if I hadn't been?" 

He raised an eyebrow, wordlessly encouraging her to continue. 

"I definitely would have tried to land you."

She left with a wink in his direction and for a moment, Lee stared at her, noticing the way her dark hair shone under the light, and the way she walked with her chin high—like she didn't belong to a race that had been all but wiped out by its own creation.

He shook himself after a few seconds, thinking that Nate probably would have enjoyed the show. Of all his friends, Nate was the one who nagged Lee the most about getting "back in the game."

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Nate had asked only a few days earlier. At forty, he was the oldest of their little group. He had been a writer before the attacks and had turned journalist in recent years. Lee didn't know if it was due to his age or his new calling in life, but whatever the reason, Nate had opinions about everything—Lee and Romo had done a brave but foolish thing by defending Baltar, President Roslin needed a reality check because they weren't going to reach Earth any time soon and she was the only one who still clung to that belief, Romo needed to sleep more and work less and his damn cat was damn annoying. Lee couldn't imagine how anyone could be so certain of anything after what had happened to them all.

As for Scott… Well, Scott, too, was pushing Lee to meet someone, probably because he had developed a slight case of hero worship as far as Nate was concerned and he always agreed with him. "You can't still be regretting the way your marriage ended, right?" he sometimes asked Lee.

And no, Lee wasn't regretting it, exactly. His marriage with Dee had probably been over a long time before he tried to become a lawyer; he could see that in hindsight. Maybe he had mislead her, maybe she deliberately had ignored the signs that he wasn't only Apollo, wasn't only his father's son, but either way, there had been a misunderstanding right at the beginning. 

As for Kara… Well, that had been a bad idea as well. They had only brought out the worst in each other, much as they had loved each other. Maybe, a few years down the line, they would have been able to find a way to make it work, but that chance had vanished with her—a fact that still hurt more than Lee liked to admit.

Lee's current celibacy had nothing to do with them, and everything to do with them. He just couldn't seem to find anyone interesting, couldn't find it in him to think about the future this way. A few visits to a sollicitator every month took care of his needs, and his loneliness wasn't unbearable.

He didn't see himself admitting it to Scott, though—even if the kid was only three years younger than himself and about six inches taller. Scott looked like what Zak would have looked like, had he lived long enough to witness the death of their worlds; dark hair, dark blue eyes, and bright and funny and clinging to his sense of humor as a way of fighting. He looked like he still believed that things always turned out all right in the end, even after the loss of the Colonies. He didn't need to know how frakked up some people were. He didn't need to know that sometimes, it was better not to risk at all than being hurt.

_And isn't that the story of your life, Apollo? Always hiding because you don't want to get burned again._

_I'm happy._

_Bullshit._

_I'm not _un_happy._

_Whatever. _

Sometimes, he really wanted Kara to leave. Most times, he was glad to still have a piece of her in him—annoying him, telling him everything he didn't want to hear. Being Starbuck. At least, in some small way, she was still here.

He spent the remainder of the night trying to forget about Samantha's smile.

He wasn't quite successful.

* * *

TBC 


	4. Part 1 Chapter 3

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 and Mick1997 for the time they spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Chapter 3

_Three years ago_

Charlie was generous—both as a friend and as a human being. She freely gave of her time to help out as a nurse, whenever people on the Orion needed help. She was an easy going, optimistic, bright woman, easy to like and fun to hang out with. When she was angry, though, she could also be a force to be reckoned with and she didn't pull her punches, as Lee learned the hard way when she barged into his quarters without knocking. "Okay, asshole," she said.

Lee would have protested the intrusion if she hadn't looked ready to throttle him. After one glance at her furious expression, however, he kept his "Hey, I could have been busy" to himself. "Why the frak is Sam crying in my quarters?" Charlie asked. "What did you do?"

"Why do you assume I did anything?" Lee asked, vaguely insulted. Sure, he was clueless when it came to women; he didn't mind admitting it (not that denying it would have done much good, considering his track record). He had trouble communicating (though he was good at writing official reports, back when that ability was still useful in his life), he didn't trust, he didn't like the idea of commitment, but he wasn't in the habit of making women cry.

And he should have gotten to his feet when Charlie had entered the room. She was looming over him now, her face thunderous, and he felt distinctly overpowered, despite the fact that he had several inches and about twenty pounds on her.

She glared at him.

He stared back at her.

The face off would have lasted longer if she hadn't been so angry, but she broke it off eventually to smack him upside the head.

"Hey!" he said. Not the most effective defense ever, but he didn't think the situation called for a soap box speech and that was the only thing he was good at.

Okay, fine, he had screwed up.

He hadn't thought they had reached the tears stage yet, though.

It had been an innocent conversation, after all. At first. Then, somewhere along the line, as Lee was saying something about the Fleet not having many resources left, she had said, "I'm pregnant."

And, okay, it had surprised him.

And yes, he had a tendency to react badly to surprises.

He hadn't said anything. She had taken that as a sign that… well, he wasn't sure what she had heard in his silence. What he knew was that she had left before he could find anything to say.

And apparently, she had run to her friend before he could even start to deal with the news, and frak, but why did women always stick with each other in these cases? First, they ambushed men, caught them off guard and dropped their bombshells, and if it wasn't followed by The Right Answer in five seconds, then the test was considered a failure and where was the justice in that?

"You're an idiot," Charlie said.

Lee didn't think that explaining he had been surprised would cut him much slack, so he nodded. He _was_ an idiot.

"Fix this," she snapped before leaving. 

"How?" Lee asked, but either she didn't hear him, as she was so busy slamming the hatch behind her, or she chose to ignore him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Bugger," Scott said when Lee stopped talking.

Romo looked amused—Romo generally looked amused whenever Lee said or did anything. Lee chose not to read anything into _that_—and Nate snickered into his drink.

"Yeah." Lee downed his glass in one swig and reached for the bottle. He needed a refill. He needed lots and lots of refills.

Nate frowned. "I'm not sure getting drunk is the answer to your problem."

He was probably right but since Lee didn't know what the solution was, drinking would do for now.

"Think about it logically," Romo said. "You like logic, don't you?"

Lee glared at him; unfortunately, Romo seemed utterly unimpressed.

Fine, logically, what were the options? Get married and keep the baby. Get married and not keep the baby. Not get married and keep the baby. Not get married and not keep the baby.

Yeah.

That helped, all right.

He thought about Gianne, back on Caprica, remembering her eyes when she had understood that he was going to take the coward's way out. Her face still haunted him, years later. 

He tried to picture Sam looking at him with those eyes and felt like hitting himself.

Romo gestured to Scott. "Come on, let's get some air," he said.

For someone so smart, Romo could be very unsubtle, sometimes.

Once they were gone, Nate sighed. "I think they're counting on me to be the voice of reason," he said. He didn't sound too enthusiastic about it. 

"One of the privileges of old age," Lee retorted, but truth was, he didn't feel like snarking at his friend.

"Except I've never been in this situation."

_Lucky you_, Lee thought. _Me? I can't keep out of this situation._ "I have a bad track record with women," Lee pointed out. "Seriously. Terrible."

"Can't be worse than mine," Nate said. Nate, for all his good looks—blond, slowly graying hair, blue eyes, and his mysterious attitude when it came to his past experience and his job—was totally incapable of staying with the same woman for more than two weeks.

Still, when it came to being a screw-up, Lee could swim circles around him. "I dumped my girlfriend on Caprica when she got pregnant. I slept with my brother's ex-fiancée, and she got married to another guy the same night, while I was sleeping. I then got married to someone who hoped I was my father. I cheated on my wife with the other woman. Who died. Shortly after that, my wife dumped me when she realized I wasn't the man she thought she had married."

Without the alcohol, he would never have talked about that.

Even with the alcohol, spelling it out in such a way made it even worse.

Nate stared at him, obviously torn between amusement and concern. "Wow," he finally said.

Lee shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a true child of divorce." Did he care that he sounded like a bitter, spoiled kid? Not one bit.

"I don't know what to tell you," Nate said. "Except, change. Because seriously, Lee, we all like you, but Sam was my friend long before you came along, and if she keeps crying over you, I'll have to kick your ass." He stared at his empty glass, sighed. "Unless of course you think the two of you will be horribly unhappy together, in which case…"

Lee was already shaking his head. He had spent a lot of time in the last three days trying to imagine his life without Sam and he hadn't liked what he had seen. He wanted to be with her. He just wasn't sure he wouldn't screw things up. He didn't want to do to Sam what he had done to Gianne and Dee.

"This isn't just about the baby, is it?" Nate asked, his voice soft and sympathetic. Damn him. Lee didn't want sympathy, he wanted a swift kick up the ass. At least, he knew how to deal with that.

Lee thought about Kara, about the feeling of being stabbed in the gut when he had learned that she had gone and married Anders. It still hurt, even after all this time.

_Oh, so now I'm your excuse for being unable to commit to anyone? You were like that long before we met, Apollo._

_You didn't help._

_I know._

He closed his eyes, knowing what she was going to say next.

_Deal with it. Move on. If you don't…_

If he didn't, he'd lose Sam. He may not feel ready to get married again, but he sure as hell was even less ready to see her walk away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I don't want you to do this because of the baby," Sam said, for what felt like the ten thousandth time.

"I'm not," Lee replied, again.

Sam looked him straight in the eyes, head held high. She had been sick two times since they had started to talk and she looked like she wanted nothing more than to lie down. Yet, she stubbornly refused to even sit. "Are you sure?"

Lee had never been more sure of anything in his life. He had also never been so terrified. _Come on,_ he thought. _You faced down Centurions, you can do this. _Yeah, right. Pep talks had never been his specialty.

He took a deep breath. She had told him a lot about her own life, and he had offered next to nothing in return—a few hints about his parents' relationship, stories about Zak. Nothing meaningful, not really. Nothing to explain why he was how he was.

She knew he didn't share easily, she accepted it. But this time, he needed to suck it up and struggle his way through an explanation—and an honest explanation at that. He couldn't do anything less if he wanted to convince her.

"My mother didn't like me very much," he said, feeling like each word was being torn out of him, leaving a gaping, bleeding wound behind.

Was it the first time he said it out loud? Probably. He tried to meet her gaze, couldn't bring himself to face what he'd see there, and decided to stare at the floor instead. "She got married to my father because she got pregnant with me, and she got stuck in her life because of that, because of _me,_ and… well, she just didn't like me very much."

Amazing how much it could still hurt, after all these years—he had tried so hard, for so long, to please her. He didn't remember exactly when he had finally accepted the fact that nothing he could do would ever be enough for her, but he remembered he had started distancing himself from both his parents at around that point. How old was he, then? Eleven, twelve at most?

Amazing how he was still unable to move past that pain, to put it aside once and for all and leave it behind. He was tired of carrying it around everywhere he went.

Sam started nodding when he added, forcing the words past the lump in his throat, "I wouldn't do that to someone else, to our kid. I just…" He gestured helplessly, wishing he was piloting a Viper against a Basestar (or two, or three) instead of having this conversation. "I'm sure. Are you?"

He waited, breathless and dizzy, feeling like he had just jumped off a cliff and was still falling.

Instead of replying, she walked to him, put her head on his shoulder and her arms around his waist. "Yes," she whispered. Catching him.

They held on to each other for a long time. Lee thought that wherever she was, Kara probably approved. It shouldn't have mattered to him anymore, but it did.

* * *

TBC 


	5. Part 1 Chapter 4

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 and Mick1997 for the time they spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Chapter 4

_Two years ago_

"I'm not sure he's drunk enough."

Scott looked at Lee, smirking. "Are you kidding?" he asked Nate. "He couldn't even get to his feet on his own at this point." His voice was loud enough to be heard several feet away, even in the surrounding racket—people talking, laughing, some playing triad, others arguing about one thing or another, their gestures angry. A few people at nearby tables turned to them before going back to their business.

Nate shrugged, studied Lee. "He could be faking it."

"He's still here," Lee informed them testily.

"And he's talking about himself in the third person. Yeah, he's definitely had enough," Scott concluded.

Lee ignored them both and went back to staring at his drink. The feeling of manageable fear that had been his constant companion since Sam had told him she was pregnant had given way to near-panic when Laura had taken her first breath. Maybe if he kept staring into the liquor long enough, the dread would fade away.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time—a night out with the guys, while Sam recuperated from Laura's birth in the infirmary of the Orion. A night out before… well, before it all became real.

Now that he was here, though, Lee was having second thoughts about that plan. Alcohol didn't seem to be making things any easier.

"You okay?" Scott asked.

Lee shrugged. "Yeah." Except for the fact that sooner or later, he was going to screw up in some way and that his daughter would end up hating him. Gods, he didn't want his relationship with this little girl to end up to be as conflicted and bitter as the one between him and his father.

"No, you're not," Nate said. "You're thinking about everything that might go wrong, because that's what you always do."

Lee Adama, overthinker.

Lee Adama, permanent screw-up.

Lee closed his eyes, disgusted with himself. Now really wasn't the time to start thinking about all the things he had been called in his life, but apparently, becoming a father was making him introspective. Fancy that.

Besides…

Besides, thinking about all the ways in which he could mess things up was almost reassuring. That, at least, was under his control. He could grow up a little. He could do better than his own father had done, hopefully. He could learn from the past and avoid making the mistakes he feared he would.

But he couldn't guarantee that the fleet would ever reach Earth. He couldn't guarantee that the Orion wouldn't be blown to pieces during a Cylon attack. He couldn't guarantee that his wife and kid wouldn't die in a stupid accident while his back was turned.

At least, Sam could defend herself, protect herself. That baby sleeping next to her right now, while he was drinking his worries away, was way too vulnerable for his taste.

"I'm going to be a pathologically overprotective father," he announced to his friends. They nodded, seemingly unfazed by the non-sequitur.

"Yeah," Nate said.

Scott chuckled. "Like we hadn't figured that part out for ourselves."

They both looked an odd mix of amused and long-suffering, and yes, they knew Lee and had probably expected it all along.

Lee shrugged. After all, better overprotective than distant, right?

"I think it's high time we got you back home," Nate said, rising from his seat, a hand already on Lee's arm.

Lee blinked up at him. "I can get there on my own," he said.

Nate stepped back and motioned for Lee to stand, wordlessly daring him to try it.

Lee did, surprised when the room instantly started spinning. "How much of this did I have, again?" he asked, gripping the table to remain standing.

"Too much," Scott retorted, taking his arm while Nate got the other. Between them, they managed to guide/drag Lee back to his quarters—they were both taller than he was, which should have made it easier but didn't. "Frak, you're heavy," Scott groaned at some point.

Sam was going to mock him when she saw him the next day, looking like he was coming off a bender, which was essentially the truth. Well, either that or she was going to yell at him. Possibly both. And then their daughter was sure to start crying at some point, and that was going to be fun too, with the hangover he was sure to develop.

Nate and Scott allowed him to collapse face first on the bed and Lee felt that someone was taking off his shoes. "You're on your own for the rest," Nate said, his voice shaking with laughter.

Lee gestured his thanks, too wiped to talk. He could feel his friends retreating to the hatch and he whispered, "What if I screw up. What if I… break her?"

Nate snorted. "I don't think it's so easy to break a baby, Lee. Besides, I'm her godfather, I wouldn't allow you to do it."

_Are you kidding? You saw her! And I know how easy it is to break another human being. Half the fleet is made up with people like me, who've been burned too bad and are terrified it'll happen again. _

_What the frak do I do if I screw up?_

One of his friends, Lee didn't check to see which it was, patted his shoulder awkwardly and then they left him alone. He closed his eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Contrary to Lee's worst fears, he didn't kill his daughter in her first few weeks. Three months after she was born, she was as healthy and full of life as possible, considering the circumstances. He was trying not to dwell on the dangers inherent to their lifestyle—if only because whenever Sam caught him in one of his brooding moods, she kicked his ass. Hard.

Things were going well, probably better than ever, so it shouldn't have surprised him when he got a call from Colonial One. 

"What was it about?" Sam asked him the next day, as he picked at the food on his plate. He would never have thought he'd miss the military's emergency rations, but he did. The algae was long gone, had been replaced with some plants the crew of the Galactica had found on a scouting mission—the plants were both bitter and tasteless, and didn't sate hunger in the least.

"Lee?" Sam insisted.

He met her eyes. "Hm?" he said, hoping she'd understand how reluctant he was to talk about it.

"That call you got. What was it about?" She looked down at the food, then back at him, apparently about as enthusiastic about eating it as he was.

"Nothing," he said, unconvincingly.

She shot him her cut-the-crap look, the one he knew better than to resist, complete with a derisive, "Right."

He sighed, pushed the plate away. He wasn't going to be able to force that stuff down today. "President Roslin asked to see me."

Sam froze. Reports of the President's poor health were all over the fleet. According to Laura Roslin herself, she didn't have much longer left. After the first movement of panic—what were they going to do without the leader who had kept them safe from the Cylons for so long?—most of the civilians seemed to be taking this in stride. Even the military personnel Lee sometimes talked to at the bar seemed resigned to the fact that it was pretty much inevitable. A miracle had saved her a first time, but that miracle wasn't going to happen again.

"Is it time?"

"I don't know," Lee said. He hadn't spoken to the President since the day of the verdict, hadn't even seen her since then. "One of her aides made the call and he didn't say much. Just that she'd like to see me."

"Are you going to go?" Sam kept her tone neutral but Lee knew how worried she was about him. He rarely spoke about the trial, even to Romo, but all his friends knew what it had cost him, what it was still costing him. It was easy to say that his relationship with his father would certainly have taken a turn for the worse anyway, that they were too different, that there had been no way to avoid it, and another thing entirely to know that his choices had precipitated their falling out. They still talked to each other, but things weren't the same as they had been _before_.

"I don't know," Lee said eventually, even though in truth, he did know. Of course he was going to go see her. He wasn't particularly looking forward to it—did she still blame him for what had happened or had she found a way to forgive?—but he wasn't going to deny her that last chance to say what was on her mind.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the end, Laura Roslin was the last straw between Lee and his father. It was fitting, Lee thought later—when he could think again, a few weeks after _that_ fight. She had always been a source of tension between him and his father. She probably hadn't even meant to make things worse. It just happened—Adama temper at work, all over again.

His father stormed into his quarters, shot him a hard look and said, his voice tight with fury, "I can't believe that after all these years, you're not going to go see her!"

Lee stood up quickly, thrown from what he had been doing—they really needed to file that report on what little supplies they had left at the bar if they wanted to get more. "What?"

"Laura asked you to come see her, but you didn't, did you?"

"Is that what she told you?" Lee asked, taken aback. He didn't think he had ever seen his father this enraged, even after the mutiny, even after Tigh's testimony, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what had happened to get him so angry.

Lee's meeting with the President, the previous day, had been fraught with tension and awkwardness but they had both survived it, and in many ways, they probably both felt better for it. Or at least, he had assumed so. But then, why was his father here, and why was he so mad, exactly?

"She said it wasn't any of my business," his father eventually said, grudgingly. For a split second, his face softened. Then, he met Lee's eyes and he started scowling again.

Lee took a breath, trying to keep his own anger under control. He had seen his father more often since Laura's birth, and he had thought they were finally doing better; they still kept their distance, but they could actually be in the same room for more than an hour without snapping at each other. Lee had seen it as progress. Apparently, he had been wrong, if his father could still lash out at him without even knowing all the facts, without so much as asking for his side of the story. Attack first had always been his father's motto.

Lee had never reacted well to these attacks. "And you just decided to assume the worst, again, didn't you?" His father looked ready to protest but Lee spoke over him. "You know what? She's right. It's none of your business and you're not my commander anymore. You don't get to barge in here and tell me what I should or shouldn't do."

They stared at each other over the length of the living quarters. Once again, it seemed that they were locked in a pissing contest. Lee was so damn tired of this—this constant fighting, this constant anger.

"I can't believe you didn't give her at least that," his father repeated. Lee thought he heard his father's voice shaking, but when he looked at him, his face was stony, his lips clenched in a thin line—the perfect picture of the hardass admiral that he was.

_I went to see her_, Lee tried to say, surprised when the words remained stuck in his throat.

His father shook his head and sighed, as if Lee wasn't even worth his time anymore.

For a few seconds, Lee felt torn between anger and hurt. Then, anger won—as it usually did. "Get out of here," he said.

His father stood there defiantly and Lee snapped, more forcefully, "Get out of here. Just… go."

"Fine," his father said in the same voice he had used to say, "I see you chose your side," back in the beginning of their days on the run.

It seemed like nothing had changed between them, that nothing would ever change between them.

For a few endless moments after his father's departure, Lee stood in the middle of the room, heart hammering in his chest, anger churning in his stomach. He felt like shouting, like breaking something, so he closed his eyes, clenched his fists, trying to keep it in. He didn't realize he was walking, didn't realize what he was doing until his fist slammed against the wall.

Everything stopped.

For a long while, all Lee could feel was the pounding in his hand, the nauseating pain shooting all the way from his hand to his shoulder. He almost welcomed it. Anything was better than thinking about what had just happened.

Too soon, the blinding pain ebbed away, leaving Lee with the memories—how furious his father had looked, what he had said. What they had both said.

The way his father had left, quietly closing the hatch behind him. It was the worst, Lee thought. If he had left in a huff, Lee would have known that he had spoken in anger, and he knew enough about the both of them to be able to move on past that. But it looked a lot more like his father had taken stock of who Lee was, had found it lacking, and had given up on trying to make him better, and had decided that he didn't want to have anything to do with him anymore, and that…

Well, that probably meant that their relationship was well beyond repair.

Lee hadn't thought it would sting so much. Hell, he hadn't thought it would ever happen.

He sank into a seat, cradling his injured hand.

He needed to get back to what he had been doing. He needed to get that hand looked at, or at the very least ice it. He needed to prepare for his evening shift at the bar. He needed to go ask the Orion's pilot if he had time for a lesson on how to pilot this freakingly big ship later in the week. 

He didn't do any of those things; he just sat there and stared ahead, wondering is he had just lost his last chance to make things right with his father.

* * *

TBC 


	6. Part 1 Chapter 5

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 and Mick1997 for the time they spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Chapter 5

_One years ago_

"I think this is it," Lee said, leaning tiredly against the bar. They had cleaned out most of the largest debris in the three days following the attack, and had now moved on to the smaller stuff—glasses and bottles, broken chairs and tables.

The Orion had taken a bad hit in the latest battle against the Cylons; thankfully, the structural damage had been both limited and repairable, but there had been a lot of injuries, some superficial, others not, all over the ship. Pretty much everything that could break—photo frames, glasses, mirrors and the like—had broken.

It could have been worse, everyone kept saying. The FTL engines could have been destroyed, preventing them from jumping to safety. The Orion could have been blown to pieces, period. If all they had to deal with was minimal damage, then they weren't doing so bad.

Even the death count could have been higher. Lee privately thought it was high enough—sixteen people on the Orion alone, a lot more throughout the rest of the fleet.

New orphans and widowers; other people who had once more lost everything.

Lee made a note to up the security of their quarters again. He and Sam knew they sometimes dangerously toed on the line between carefulness and paranoia, but things were chaotic right now, would remain so for several weeks at least, and with people on edge, the crime rate tended to rise. There would, apparently, always be people trying to benefit from other people's distress.

The recently instated police force wouldn't be able to do much; most of the civilians didn't trust them and wouldn't complain to them directly. Sam had jokingly said that she was going to close shop once they officially started working, but if nothing else, her business was busier than usual.

Lee thought the idea must have looked good on paper; newly elected President Ripley had probably thought it would reassure everyone to see a force supposed to help them in case of a problem, but the truth was no one knew exactly how to react to these new uniforms.

Maybe it had been too soon for that. Maybe it was just that people had gotten used to living without cops around and didn't appreciate seeing them come back.

"Yeah," Frank said, startling Lee out of his thoughts. "Well, I guess for a while, people will just have to live without a bar."

Lee shrugged. The bar was pretty low on the list of repairs to be done; it was merely a luxury, certainly not a life or death matter. Frank, who had been hired less than six months earlier, looked sadder at the thought than Lee felt.

Of course, Frank was young—barely twenty-two. He had lost all his family in the attacks on the Colonies and hadn't yet managed to rebuild one, so he tended to get a little clingy. That was why he had ended up being fired from all his previous jobs; many people in the Fleet preferred to keep others at bay. It was easier, most times, to avoid human contact, avoid the risk of being hurt. Eventually, Frank made people uncomfortable and was gently asked to leave.

Lee couldn't help admiring Frank's willingness to risk himself, time and time again. Gods knew Lee didn't have that kind of courage.

"We'll be back eventually," he said. He took one last look around to make sure they had cleaned up everything they could, then nodded at the hatch. "Come on, let's go see if they need hands anywhere else."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lee was about to sleep when Sam spoke up, her voice soft in the quiet. "Today, I had my youngest client ever," she said. "Nine years old."

Lee looked at her, surprised—that such a young kid would think about hiring a PI and that Sam would mention it at all. She tended to keep her business and her private life separate. He sometimes relayed information he heard at the bar to her, she sometimes asked him to keep his eyes and ears open for information, but most times, she preferred keeping her family as far away from her job as she could. Lee worried about her—not knowing what kind of case she was handling allowed his imagination to work overtime—but he did his best to respect her decision. "What did he want?" he asked.

"Help. His parents disappeared during the attack. He wanted to know if I could find them."

Lee leaned on an elbow. "You mean he's been on his own for over a week?"

She nodded sadly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "He's resourceful," she said. "He was scared he'd be put in a foster family and his parents wouldn't find him when they came back. Only…"

"They died," Lee finished, stealing a glance in the direction of Laura's bed. He didn't want to picture his daughter being raised by strangers, didn't want to imagine her in a few years, coming home, not finding them and being left alone. 

"Yeah." She followed his gaze to Laura. "He was so sad… He wanted to know what was going to happen to him. He was just…"

Lee turned back to her, hearing something he couldn't quite place in her tone. She definitely had a reason to bring this up—something beyond the fact that it affected her and she needed to share. "What did you do with him?"

"Left him at the shelter. They'll find some place for him. Hopefully." He couldn't remember ever hearing her so down, so helpless.

Lee looked at her and waited, allowing her to continue at her own pace. Eventually, she gave a small sigh. "Would you agree to meet him?"

"You want to keep him with us," Lee concluded.

She hurriedly said, "I won't insist if you don't like him. It's just… People need to start adopting these kids, you know. Most of them all end up together with a few former teachers, and it's like an orphanage when…"

When they could do better for the victims of the Cylons—for that was what these kids were. More victims who had lost everything, and couldn't even start building their lives back because they just weren't equipped for that yet.

"What's his name?" Lee asked.

"Really?"

He looked at Laura again. If anything happened to both he and Sam, where would she go? Most of their friends and acquaintances had kids of their own, or didn't want any. He liked Nate and Romo, but he couldn't see them raising a kid. Would she be given to his father? Of everyone in the fleet, he was the one Lee trusted the most to care for Laura, but would he agree to do it when they hadn't talked to each other in months?

"If we can help…" he said. If they could help, they would, because someday, their kid might be in this situation, and he needed to believe that someone, somewhere, would do right by her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two weeks later, Sam and Lee offered Mark to come live with them.

"My parents won't come back, will they?" Mark asked, sounding like he knew the answer already but needed to hear it again to believe it.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Sam said, and she took him in her arms when he started to cry.

Lee held on to Laura, who was sitting on his lap, watching everything. She looked grave, as if she understood that the situation required quiet and silence.

_I promise not to die_, he thought fiercely, stupidly, hugging her tighter.

He knew better than to say it, though. He didn't want to make promises he might not be able to keep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three months went by.

Mark was adjusting to his new life, cautiously accepting Sam and Lee's help and finding his place in their home. Laura adopted him on the spot, apparently deciding that an older brother was just what she had been missing. Lee remembered Zak at the same age, the memory bittersweet.

Of everyone and everything he had lost, he missed his brother the most. Sometimes, he cynically thought that it was because he hadn't had the time to frak up his relationship with Zak, as he had every other relationship in his life. Maybe, with time, Lee would have found a way to drive Zak away from him. Maybe he would have ended up estranged from his family, even if Zak had been around. Maybe he was just that screwed-up.

Seeing Mark and Laura playing and laughing together, seeing Mark trying to take care of Laura whenever she got scared, Lee vowed to do right by both of them. He refused to see his kids grow up to become like him—insecure and messed up and angry.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Everyone had thought that things couldn't get any worse, so Lee wasn't really surprised when a saboteur managed to provoke an explosion aboard one of the civilian transports. Another forty people were lost. Sometimes, Lee was glad he wasn't a scientist; he didn't want to know how close they were to extinction. Had they already reached the point of no return? How large did a gene pool have to be to ensure the survival of a species?

It seemed like the Cylons had their work cut out for them. Humans did a fairly good job killing each other off.

"We live in an insane universe," he said.

"I know." Sam shifted closer to him in the bed, rested her head on his chest. 

"I'm so…" he said, trailing off helplessly. Pilots, former colleagues, _friends_, died every day. According to Racetrack, finding other people willing to replace them was growing increasingly difficult. Lee wasn't surprised. Not many people were able to stay calm enough under pressure for that kind of job. Even fewer people wouldn't be afraid to join the army, considering the life expectancy of viper pilots, these days.

And all that suffering was for nothing, because humans killed other humans anyway. The saboteur hadn't even made any demands, hadn't even said why he had done what he did.

Sometimes, Lee wondered why bother fighting at all. He was so tired of it—of always wondering where the next blow was going to come from, of always fearing for his family's safety. Of feeling powerless.

Maybe he should have stayed a pilot; at least then, he would feel like he had some control over what happened to him.

Then, he remembered what it had been like to fly in the middle of a battle, how important a role luck played. Pilots weren't in control any more than he was. Even his father couldn't possibly foresee everything, couldn't control everything.

They all depended on luck and on each other to survive. Obviously, luck wasn't on their side, and counting on each other was insanity because no one knew who might be a traitor, a terrorist, a killer.

"We all get tired," Sam whispered, her breath warm against his skin. "We all do. But we don't have a choice."

He knew that. Once upon a time, he had given up on life, but back then he didn't have two kids depending on him, and a wife to leave behind.

He just wished Mark and Laura could grow up somewhere nice. He wanted them to know what it was like to breathe fresh air, to walk on a beach, to see an ocean, to feel the sun on their faces, to run under the rain.

He wanted them to grow up safe.

"One day," Sam said. "We won't always be on the run, Lee. One day, we'll find a planet where we can stay. One day, we'll be safe."

The words sounded like a promise and Lee tried to believe it.

* * *

TBC 


	7. Part 1 Chapter 6

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 and Mick1997 for the time they spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Chapter 6

_Three months ago_

"Oh, please!"

Sam was laughing too hard to heed Scott's protests. So were the rest of them.

"I'm telling you, it was totally innocent," Scott insisted.

"Sure," Lee said amicably. "You ended up on your knees in front of her, her skirt over your head, totally innocently. Right."

The sad thing was, Scott was probably sincere. It was just the kind of thing that constantly happened to him. He called women, "Mister," and men, "Miss," he tripped over his own feet and he found himself in impossibly embarrassing situations without having looked for it. 

Lee wasn't far from feeling sorry for him.

"Whatever," Scott said, going back to his drink. Whether he was pouting or enjoying the fact that he was the center of attention was hard to tell.

They had all gathered to celebrate Nate's birthday. Once upon a time, they would have shared a nice meal between friends, but sharing rations was just too depressing. These days, it was easier to get alcohol than food, so they were drinking instead. No one complained but Lee sometimes wondered if their social alcoholism would ever become a problem.

Yet another leftover from his childhood he'd prefer to do without but he couldn't ignore the fact that his mother had been an alcoholic, not with two kids depending on him. He would not become like her, he vowed again.

"Much as I enjoy watching Scott squirm," Nate said, smiling when Scott glared at him, "Have you heard that the Captain has decided to ask for a doctor to be assigned on board permanently?"

"Yes," Lee replied, at the same time Sam said, "Oh, no, we said no serious conversations tonight!"

Nate mock snapped a salute, Lee asked, "So, we should torture Scott some more?" and Scott turned bright red.

"Ah ah!" Charlie exclaimed. "I knew you were hiding something!"

"I'm not hiding anything!" Scott protested, too eager to be honest. Sam and Charlie, sensing a weakness, started grilling him without remorse while Nate, Romo and Lee sat back to enjoy the show.

"This is nice," Nate offered, his voice too low for the women to hear. 

Lee nodded. Things had been fairly grim recently, between the constant threats of sabotage and the Cylon attacks. It was nice to sit back and have fun, even if it was only for a while.

"I can't believe you actually trusted someone else to stay with your kids," Nate added.

"Sandra isn't just someone else," Lee pointed out. They rarely saw her, since she was busy raising her own children, but she was still someone he trusted—at least enough to go a few decks away for a few hours, leaving her in charge of his kids.

Besides, contrary to what his friends often insinuated, Lee wasn't a total whack job when it came to Mark and Laura's safety. It wasn't his fault if he knew precisely how hard things could be, how fragile life was. He just reacted to the situation they were in, that was all.

He and Sam had had a lot of talks, recently—between themselves and with the kids, elaborating plans and making sure the kids knew what to do in case of an emergency. He felt slightly better now that it was done.

He smiled, raised his glass. "We weren't going to miss your birthday. A year older. A year wiser…"

"Ah, my child, I could teach you so much," Nate said dramatically. "And maybe, one day, I will. My wisdom should be shared."

"I can't wait," Lee said, his tone sarcastic. Nate never failed to go for the dramatic, when it suited him. "Are you working on something, by the way?"

"I thought your wife said nothing serious."

Lee shrugged, gesturing to Sam and Charlie, still busy questioning Scott. "She's otherwise busy."

"And inquiring minds want to know," Romo threw in.

Nate studied them both before shaking his head. "Not now," he said. "I'm working on something, but I can't say until I'm sure…"

_Well, that was cryptic_, Lee thought. As he was about to insist, Nate asked, "How is Mark settling in?" 

Okay, that settled it, then. It was about as unsubtle as Nate ever was when trying to divert attention from himself, and Lee knew better than to push when he was like that. "He's not complaining. I'm not sure he would if something wasn't right, though." Both he and Sam found it difficult to be parents to Mark without taking the place of his own parents; it had taken them a long time to start defining the boundaries of their relationship, and they were still mostly playing it by ear.

"He's a tough kid," Nate observed.

Lee didn't disagree, but tough or not, Mark was only ten and had lost his parents recently. Neither Lee nor Sam expected him to just get over it and move on. Mark was way too quiet, too accepting, and spending half of his childhood on a ship fleeing the Cylons might have something to do with it, but it wasn't the only explanation.

Sometimes, Lee looked at that kid, staring down, lost in his thoughts, and wondered if he would ever be able to trust anyone not to leave again. Lee had always found it hard to trust, even as a kid, and while the conditions hadn't been ideal, at least both of his parents had been alive.

Scott was spluttering over a question Sam had asked him and Nate turned in their direction to catch what was going on. Romo leaned in to ask, "Have you heard from your father?"

Lee shook his head, trying to hide how affected he was by that. "I sent him a note after we adopted Mark. He hasn't replied yet."

"I did _not_ sleep with that guy!" Scott squealed, before Romo could answer. Scott had always had an innate talent to blurt out things like this, usually during a lull in the conversation, when things were quieter and everyone was sure to hear him. Several people, including the man he was looking at, turned to their table. Lee started to laugh with the others and even Romo kind of smiled—which, for him, was the sign that he was enjoying himself greatly.

"How long do you think they're going to keep torturing him?" Lee asked.

"All night if we don't put a stop to it," Nate replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Should we—?"

"No!" both his friends yelled in unison.

_Yeah,_ Lee thought. As long as the girls focused on Scott, they weren't grilling the rest of them. Keeping quiet was definitely the way to go here.

So, Lee sat back, nursed his drink and smiled at the sight of his friend trying to pretend he wasn't blushing to the roots of his hair.

This was going to be a good night.

* * *

TBC 


	8. Part 1 Chapter 7

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 and Mick1997 for the time they spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Chapter 7

_Two weeks ago_

Hearing knocks on the door in the middle of the night rarely heralded good news, Lee thought as he made his way to the hatch. Behind him, Sam was sitting up in their bed, blinking slowly as her eyes adjusted to the light. "What the hell?" she muttered.

Lee opened the hatch to find a cop standing on the other side. The first thing that went through his mind was that at least it wasn't a soldier. It probably didn't have anything to do with his father, then.

"I'm sorry to disturb you this late, Sir," the cop said, his voice and his face somber.

Lee nodded but didn't invite him to come in. It was late, the kids were asleep, and he just knew, from the man's face, that he didn't come bringing good news. It was stupid, but maybe if the guy stayed outside, the news wouldn't seem so bad.

"You and your wife were listed as Nate Ellison's contacts, should anything happen to him," the cop started.

Lee nodded, his throat going dry. "Yes." The words flew out of his mouth before he could think about it. "He's dead, isn't he?" That was the only reason why the cop could possibly be here at this hour, looking like that.

The cop nodded. "May I come in?"

Sam's voice, behind Lee, startled them both. "No."

Lee turned to her, took in her pale face. "Can't it wait?" he asked, knowing what the answer would be.

The cop hesitated. Lee sighed. "Fine. Give us a minute."

Ignoring the man, he took Sam in his arms. She allowed the hug, leaning against him. "Gods," she whispered.

Lee didn't think the gods had anything to do with this, but refrained from saying so. Instead, he held his wife close, offering what little comfort he could.

The cop didn't stay long—just long enough to ask what their relationship with Nate was, if there were other people he should contact, if Nate had enemies.

"It wasn't an accident, was it?" Sam asked, her voice tense.

"No, Ma'am," the cop replied. "It looks like he was stabbed to death."

Sam shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. Lee's eyes flew to the kids' room door. The cop looked at them both gently. "Do you know who might have done that?"

Sam and Lee shook their heads silently.

"He was a journalist," the cop insisted. "Was he working on something? Something that might explain why he was murdered?"

Lee hesitated, remembering their talk over two months ago. Nate hadn't said much about the case since then; just that he was still working on it, and it would probably "be huge" when he went public with it, but no details beyond that. "He was working on something," he said. "I don't know what it was."

The cop looked at Sam, who shrugged. "Me neither."

He nodded and got to his feet. "I'll probably be back later with more questions." He hesitated, then added, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Lee saw him out then came back to sit next to Sam. "I can't believe it," she said numbly.

_Me neither, _Lee thought.

They sat there in silence until morning, until the kids emerged from sleep and came to sit with them, sensing that something wasn't right.

As they explained what had happened, Lee distantly thought that they should warn Romo and Scott, Charlie and Sarah, and see to the arrangements, and try to remember more about what Nate had said, and—

Then, Laura started to cry, and Mark put his head on Lee's shoulder, and it dawned on him that it was real. He had known Nate since the beginning of his life as a civilian, what seemed like eons ago. Funny. When he had left the Galactica, he had been sure that he would never get close to anyone anymore, that he'd never be able to make new friends, to rebuild his life.

It was only now that it occurred to him that he had, without even noticing.

All this time spent worrying about Sam and about the kids, and death still managed to blindside him, to hit where he didn't expect it to.

Sam took Laura in her arms, whispering quiet words of reassurance in her ears. Feeling like he was going to throw up, Lee put an arm around Mark's shoulders, pulling him closer.

He held on to the kid for a long while.

* * *

TBC 


	9. Part 2 Chapter 8

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 and Mick1997 for the time they spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

**PART TWO**__

  
Chapter 8

_Today_

Bill couldn't tear his eyes away from his granddaughter, even though he was listening to the other child.

The girl's eyes were Lee's and once again, Bill missed his son with an intensity that didn't seem to wane as time went by.

The last time he had seen Laura, she had been only a few months old. He felt a pang of regret. He had missed his sons' childhoods and it seemed like he wasn't doing much better with his grandkids.

_What did you expect? Did you really think that he was going to stop living until you came to your senses? Did you think that life wouldn't go on? Have you learned so little? _

"Our parents always said that if something happened to both of them, we had to get to one of the military ships and ask to see you, Sir," the boy was explaining. Mark. Lee and his wife had adopted him about a year ago. That bit of news had been in the last note Bill had received from Lee. When he had failed to answer, his son had given up.

Mark went on, looking small on the sickbay bed where he had been settled. "They said we couldn't wait at home, but we had to come right here."

Cottle patted Laura's shoulder and smiled a grandfatherly smile at her. "They're both fine," he told Bill. "A little agitated, but that's to be expected." He hovered a moment. "I see no reason to keep them here," he said. "I could assign some of my personnel to keep an eye on them, but—"

"Helo is making arrangements so they can come to my quarters," Bill replied, agreeing with what Cottle wasn't saying. Sickbay was no place for kids, not even for a night. "Give me a couple of hours to take care of some things and someone will come and get them." 

Cottle nodded and stepped out, leaving Bill alone with the kids. He knew Racetrack was hovering a few feet behind him, her presence reassuring the kids without interfering with his questions.

Both his grandchildren were watching him a little warily and it suddenly dawned on Bill what a leap of faith his son had made. He didn't doubt that Lee and his wife had friends, many of whom would probably be happy to care for the kids for a while. But their first plan had been to call to him, despite the fact that they had been at odds for years.

They had trusted their children to a grandfather who had never taken the time to get to know them, hoping he'd make sure they were safe. 

"They didn't come home," Mark added, looking near tears but too stubborn to cry. "They're always home when school ends, at least one of them. So, we didn't go in, and we saw men we didn't know come out."

Racetrack exchanged a worried glance with Bill. That didn't sound good at all. 

"So, we looked for a military ship. And we recognized one of the pilots. Lee sometimes talks with her." 

Bill looked at Racetrack, who ducked her head. He was a little surprised; he knew most of the crew had seen Lee resigning his commission to be Baltar's lawyer as a betrayal, and maybe they hadn't taken it as personally as Bill had, but it was still odd to learn now that Lee still talked to some of them.

Mark was waiting for him to say or do something, so Bill focussed on him again. "Did something unusual happen, recently?"

Mark considered the question with a frown before saying, "No. Well, Laura's godfather was killed. He was a friend of Sammie." 

"When was it?" Racetrack asked. 

"Two weeks ago." Mark looked down, then faced Bill with a pleading look. "Are you going to find them?"

He smiled. "Yes," he said.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bill paced the length of his quarters, pondering the situation.

He tried to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach—it would be very like Lee to start investigating the death of that man, but he might also have been snatched by people without any good reason. Gods knew there were many people with adjustment problems on the fleet these days.

He had to consider both possibilities, because if he didn't, and he made a mistake… well, he didn't want to think about what would happen to Lee and his wife if they weren't found soon. Damn, he didn't want to think about what was happening to Lee now.

Tigh was watching him in silence, his face revealing nothing. "What's the plan?" he eventually asked, like he'd ask what was for diner. Not that Bill blamed him. He knew that his XO and Lee had never seen eye to eye, and their general animosity had turned to outward hostility after the mutiny. And then, of course, had come the trial, and Saul's testimony that had damn near broken him.

"Admiral?" 

Bill sighed, knowing that Saul was also reminding him that decisions needed to be made, and that he needed a cool head to make them.

Regardless of the reasons behind Lee's disappearance, there were only two options. He could either order Marines to barge in on the Orion and tear the place apart until they found his son—a frighteningly appealing option—or he could send over people dressed as civilians and tell them to ask questions, discreetly, just as he had done for the sabotages.

He knew which option he preferred, but he also knew that it was the most risky one and he wasn't ready to risk his son's life if he could avoid it. 

"Admiral?"

He sighed. "Send people over to the Orion. Tell them to ask questions." Tell them to be careful.

Saul nodded, understanding, and got to his feet.

"In the meantime," Bill said, "I'll call the President." 

Saul gave a wry smile before leaving. "Good luck with that."

In truth, Bill and Ripley's relationship wasn't so bad. It wasn't much of anything at all, actually. Roslin had enjoyed arguing with Bill, and with time, their friendship had grown strong. Maybe he was still feeling her loss, but for the most part, he wasn't overly impressed by their new President so far. Ripley got things done, but that was about it. He never seemed to have an opinion on anything, never seemed to be able to make a decision that wasn't pre-approved by his staff.

Bill knew that Ripley had been a friend of Roslin—that was part of the reason why he had won the election, her support still weighing strongly in the balance, even from her deathbed—but he had no intention of allowing himself to grow as close to him as he had to Roslin.

Despite the late hour, the president's voice was alert when he took the call. "Yes, Admiral?" he asked.

Bill knew then that Ripley had already heard about what had happened. He took it from the beginning anyway, knowing that facts were always better than what Ripley might have heard through the grapevine. "As you may have heard, Lee's kids arrived on board today. It seems that Lee and his wife disappeared."

Ripley's tone betrayed no surprise. "How are you?" he asked first. 

Bill closed his eyes. That would have been Laura's first question as well. He tried to keep his mind on the situation at hand. Lee was fine. He had to be. He may be a civilian now, but he had still trained as a soldier and Bill didn't think he would have allowed himself to grow out of practice at defending himself. "Fine," he said. "I'm going to send over some of my men on the Orion."

_And I really hope you're not going to overrule me on this one,_ he thought. _Because this is my son we're talking about, and for him, I wouldn't be above staging another military coup._

"We have a civilian police force," Ripley reminded him in a neutral tone.

"Yes, Sir, I'm well aware of that. But Lee still knows too many sensitive things about the military structure and the Galactica to—"

The President cut him off. "Okay."

Bill stopped, teeth clenched. He couldn't possibly have convinced Ripley with that argument—hell, after five years, all Lee had once known was outdated by several changes in security protocol. But apparently, the President wasn't going to call him on it.

"Thank you, Sir," he said. Ripley could have made his life difficult if he had wanted to, and maybe he would if results didn't turn up soon enough for his liking, but for now, some leeway was really all Bill could hope for.

"Good hunting," Ripley replied, and hung up before Bill could add anything.

He set the phone down and turned to find his XO standing there. "Here's a list of the people I'm going to send," Saul said without preamble.

Bill scanned the list in silence, nodding at the names—most of them pilots, and frequently seen on the Orion between patrols and training sessions. No one would think twice about seeing them now.

"Send a few of them over and tell them to behave as they normally would," he said. "Play pool, drink, I don't care. No questions." 

Saul nodded without comment.

"Tell two or three of them to blend in and ask questions," Bill added, handing the list back. "And send someone to talk to Lee's friends; start with Romo Lampkin, he'll know who else to talk to. Maybe they'll remember something."

Saul lingered and Bill's fists clenched, knowing what his next question would be. "Do you think they're still alive?"

"We didn't find bodies," Bill replied sharply.

"Not yet."

Bill stared at his friend, who stared right back at him, unimpressed. "Right," Saul eventually said. "I'll go."

Bill waited until he was gone to sit behind his desk and fetch the notes from the book where he kept them hidden. He didn't know why he felt the need to be so secretive about these letters. He was sure that at least some of his men knew he and Lee had been in contact until a few months ago—they hadn't made it a secret—and that others must suspect.

The first of the letters he had received, just after the trial, was a short, "Just so you know, I'm staying on the Orion for a while. Lee."

He had seen his son a few times after that—strained meetings, usually cut short by whichever emergency Bill had to deal with that day. 

The second was dated from almost two years later; it was a formal invitation to Lee and Samantha's wedding. Bill had planned to go, but something had come up, he couldn't even remember what, and he had spent the better part of a week cleaning up the subsequent mess.

The third was another hand written note, that he had received about six months after the wedding. "Dad, I just thought you should know, Sam and I have just become parents. Her name's Laura. We're still on the Orion, if you want to come over. Your son, Lee."

Bill had gone visit them a few times. He usually found Lee and Samantha with lines of fatigue on their faces, but they were obviously happy together. Things between Lee and him didn't get any better during these visits, though—and then, there was that fight about President Roslin, that ended up being their worst—and their last.

It was Bill's fault, he knew. He should have contacted Lee once he calmed down, apologized for jumping to conclusions.

_But you were ashamed._

He closed his eyes, remembering how pale his son had looked as Bill stepped out of his quarters, and of his life.

_You were grieving for Laura and you lashed out at him, because he's family and he was the only one you could lose your calm with. Too bad your relationship wasn't solid enough to stand the pressure, isn't it?_Had Lee understood why Bill had acted that way?

Probably not.

_And you were too proud to admit that you had given in to your emotions that much. Too damn proud to apologize._

The last note had arrived a little over a year earlier. "Dad, Sam and I just adopted a kid. He's nine, his name's Mark. Lee."

Short and to the point.

Had his son expected him to come by, then, or had he just wanted Bill to know, in case something happened to him and his wife? It was impossible to say from the terse wording.

Sighing, Bill put the letters back in their hiding place and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

He badly wanted to go to the Orion himself and tear the place apart with his bare hands if need be, but it would be counterproductive at best, dangerous for everyone at worst. His face was well-known, too much so to enable him to do that kind of work anymore.

He hadn't survived until now by making impulsive decisions so he allowed the commander to take the helm, forcing the father into the backseat. 

_Like you always do._

Yes, maybe sometimes it had been a mistake.

This time, it wasn't. He wouldn't risk Lee's life because he couldn't control himself.

_You're a solider. Think like one. Act like one._

Time for him to take his own advice.

The thought of sitting by while others looked for his son didn't please him, but there wasn't much else he could do.

Maybe, if they had been closer, Lee would have confided in him if he had noticed that something was wrong.

Maybe, if they had been closer, Lee would have brought his whole family on board before things went this far.

Then again, knowing Lee, that was doubtful. Lee wasn't the kind of man to hide or to ask for help, under any circumstance.

_I'm sorry, son. I taught you that, and I'm sorry._

Well, if he couldn't do anything for his son, maybe he could help his grandchildren. It was high time to go fetch them from sickbay. One of the fleet's caretakers would be aboard soon; marines were already posted outside his quarters. He would keep these children safe until their parents were back.

Bill got to his feet with a renewed sense of purpose, decided to make things right for at least part of his family.

* * *

TBC 


	10. Part 2 Chapter 9

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 and Mick1997 for the time they spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Chapter 9

For the hundredth time, Sam tested the restraints, to the same result as the ninety-nine times before. They still didn't give an inch.

_It was funnier when it was Lee on his back, with his wrists tied to the headboard_, she thought. She would have smiled if she hadn't been so damn terrified.

She hadn't left Lee in that uncomfortable position for hours—had it been hours? Days? She had lost all track of time—and if his shoulders and his neck had started to ache, he hadn't said so. At that point, she had been doing a great job of distracting him.

Damn.

She took a deep breath, trying to slow down her erratic heartbeat.

She was thirsty and hungry, pissed off and sore, and scared to death. Her captors hadn't said anything; they had just tied her and left her alone. She hadn't seen anyone since then. They were trying to make her nervous and they were succeeding. 

She wondered where Lee was. Was he worried? Was he trying to find her? Had he been taken too? She hoped not—he wasn't the kind to go without a fight, and she didn't want to think about him being hurt or finding himself in the same situation she was.

_Definitely funnier in the bedroom,_ she thought, but it wasn't funny anymore. 

She wished she could stop thinking, but her mind seemed determined to turn against her and make her wonder endless questions she couldn't answer for now—which, again, must be part of her captors' strategy.

Were her kids fine?

They _had_ to be.

If these men had gotten their hands on Laura and Mark—

She forcefully stopped thinking along these lines, trying to focus on something more constructive instead.

What did these people want?

Was this all about Nate's murder?

The last time they had seen Nate, he had told them that the story he was working on would be out very soon, and it would be huge. Then, he had been found dead in an empty storeroom on the Orion, in a pool of his own blood. Lee and Sam had discussed the suspicious timing at length, but aside from what Nate had told them, they didn't have anything to go on.

They hadn't even been much help to the two civilian police officers who had asked them if they knew anything about Nate's recent occupations, two days after the funeral. They had repeated what Nate had told them, but it was too vague to be useful.

"He could have been bragging," one of the cops had said.

"I doubt it," Lee had replied. "He wasn't the kind. I'm sure he had found something, which would explain why he was stabbed to death."

"Or he could have scared someone by saying he was onto something big, which would have had the same results," the older cop had said apologetically. He had seen Lee about to protest and had raised a placating hand. "I'm sorry, but we need to investigate that possibility as well."

Neither Lee nor Sam had found anything to say to that. What would have been the point? The cops would lead the investigation as they decided to, no matter what the two of them thought about it.

Sam took a deep breath, noticing that thinking logically about the situation was helping her to calm down somewhat.

If Nate had really found something worth killing for, maybe that explained why she found herself in this situation. Maybe the men who had taken her thought she knew something.

It wasn't the only possible explanation, though. Her job as a private investigator hadn't only brought her friends, but her cases didn't tend to be fancy; most of the time, it was just about finding what had happened to lost or displaced family members, or make a few inquiries about stolen goods. She had even worked with the civilian police on more than one occasion.

She didn't think anything she had ever done on was important enough to kidnap her and hold her for an undetermined amount of time, especially given her captor's tactics. Most of the people she dealt with in her day-to-day business were petty thieves, bullies, but not professionals by any means.

Out of habit, she tested her restraints, hoping against hope that she'd get a different result this time around.

She didn't.

Frak.

All she could do was wait until the men told her what they wanted, wait until the cavalry came (she decided to assume that the cavalry would arrive eventually), wait and pray that her kids and her husband were fine. And if Lee had been kidnapped as well… Well, she hoped that his plan to tell Mark and Laura to go to the Galactica in case there was a problem had been a good one.

Given what she was doing for a living, and given Lee's past dealings with the black market and his stint as a lawyer, they both had a deeply engrained sense of paranoia. "It's not paranoia if someone's really out there to get you," Lee often said with a sheepish smile.

Neither of them had really thought that something was going to happen. They had obviously been wrong, and if she hadn't been a die-hard atheist, she would have thanked the gods for their over protectiveness. As long as the kids were safe—and she would cling to the belief that they were—then it didn't matter if she and Lee were a little paranoid.

The hatch to the room where she was held opened just as she was testing the restraints again and she blinked as someone switched on the lights, tensing up in fear.

She tried to turn away but the lights were all pointed in her direction, effectively blinding her and keeping the rest of the room—and the faces of the two men who had just entered—too dark for her to make out anything useful.

"So, what do you know about what Ellison what working on?" a man asked.

At least, that answered her question. She swallowed nervously and glared at him as defiantly as she could. She was totally screwed but damn if she was going to show that frakker that she was scared.

He stepped closer to the bed, put a hand on her thigh, and she had to use all her self-control not to kick it away.

Then, he showed her the knife he was holding and she reflexively pulled at her bounds again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Racetrack looked around. So far, her discreet questions hadn't yielded any answers and she was finding it increasingly hard to be subtle.

She should have come here as one of the uniformed pilots. What was Tigh thinking? She didn't know how to behave like a civilian. She hadn't known even when she _was_ a civilian. She just didn't know how to win someone's trust, because usually, her uniform stood in the way of interpersonal relationships. People either saw her as a threat or an ally based on that uniform, and acted accordingly.

She knew that Apollo's friends hadn't been much help in the investigation; none of them knew more than they already did about what Ellison had been working on. None of them had heard Apollo or his wife mention that they were being followed, none of them had seen anything suspect. No one even knew if the journalist's murder and the Adamas' disappearance were related.

The civilian police hadn't been able to find anything in Ellison's notes that would give them a clue as to why he had been murdered, which meant that the Adamas' disappearance might not even have anything to do with it.

She took a sip from her ambrosia, studying the bar. This was taking too much time. How long did they have until Apollo and his wife became expendable to their captors?

She sighed softly, staring at her glass. It seemed that even after several years, she couldn't think of him as anything but Apollo. She still hadn't gotten used to not seeing him around on the Galactica anymore, maybe because he and Starbuck had been pretty difficult to overlook.

She had met him regularly after he had established himself on the Orion; after all, he served as a bartender here fairly often. She still remembered his smile when he had said, "If we find mountains, food and water, I'll build you guys a bar." Back then, they had been about to embark on a mission—she couldn't even remember which it had been, now.

Well, they hadn't reached Earth yet, but most of the pilots who had been there that day still teased him about that promise. She had heard many rumors about him over the last years. Some said he worked at the bar and did nothing else with his days but listen to people complain into their drinks, others said he sometimes piloted the Orion, other insinuated he was a high priced prostitute—mostly malcontents left over from the Pegasus crew. Boneheads, the lot of them.

Civilian life seemed to be treating him well, this latest incident notwithstanding—and while he was a talented pilot and she missed having him to cover her ass, it was good to see one of them getting out of the military alive.

Helo, sitting at a table in the far corner of the bar, caught her gaze and gestured at his watch.

Yes, yes, time wasn't on their side, and she'd have to give the Old Man a report as soon as she got back to the Galactica, and frak, but she really didn't want to do that. Adama was growing irritable and bitter, and most of his crew had started to give him a wide berth when President Roslin had been admitted to sickbay for the last time.

She wondered what had finally driven him to this—this constant anger, this tight and barely controlled attitude. Baltar's trial, his son leaving the ship, the destruction of the Colonies, his friend dying? All of the above?

She wondered if he had kept in touch with Apollo. As one of the ranking officers, she interacted more with the Admiral than most people and she had noticed his weariness recently. Tigh was taking on an increasing number of his duties, much to everyone's dismay. What would happen the day Adama couldn't command anymore? Would Tigh take over? She dearly hoped not; everyone still remembered the martial law and the Gideon.

No one knew what had happened between the Admiral and Apollo, not really. Oh, sure, there had been Baltar's trial, and it was no secret that the Admiral had been deeply disappointed when his son had gotten involved in that little disaster—which Racetrack could understand. She hadn't taken it well either when one of her fellow pilots had seemingly betrayed what they had all struggled to defend.

In the end, though, she had moved on past that and started talking to Apollo again, because she could see that he had done what he thought was fair, and because… Well, there were so few of them left, and so few people who could understand what it was like to get in a Viper or a Raptor everyday, and cheat death time and time again—so many times that at some point, all of them started to wonder when the gods would get tired of watching over them, when luck would turn and they'd die, like all the others.

Apollo had burned out at the same time Starbuck had, _because_ Starbuck had, and all the other pilots recognized that. He was now an unofficial counselor, when the pressure got too much and the pilots needed to talk to someone, or just needed to drink in silence to exorcise their demons.

Apollo understood.

He _knew_, deep down, what it was like.

Racetrack didn't think the Admiral knew what his son was doing, and how deeply involved he still was with the military, even if none of it was official. No one, except maybe Tigh, even knew for sure if the Admiral had so much as talked to Apollo since he had left the Galactica.

It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness, the only two gaping wounds that most people didn't even pay attention to anymore.

Being an officer, she had no choice but to see it, and wonder how long their leader would be able to lead.

All that alcohol was making her way too introspective. This was why she didn't like to spend too much time thinking about her life and about what could have been. She turned maudlin and it pissed her off, and she usually did stupid things when she was pissed off.

The guy seated next to her paid for his drink and got to his feet, bumping into her as he did. She scowled at him, ready to bite his head off, when he said, "Sorry." On a whisper, he added, "Storage room three, deck five. Half an hour."

He left on another clear, "Sorry, really," and an apologetic smile.

"Did that guy just proposition you, Major?" a cheery Costanza asked, sneaking up on her.

"Maybe," she replied. He opened her mouth but she spoke before he could, "Probably not. Take Helo. Follow me at a distance. Be discreet."

With that, she slid off her seat and stepped out of the bar.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The guy stood in the shadows, but he was holding his hands up when Racetrack spotted him. "Don't shoot," he said.

She rolled her eyes at his dramatics. He was the one who had wanted to play cloak and dagger, after all. If he couldn't stand the heat, too bad for him. "Do you know anything about Lee and Samantha Adama's disappearance?" she asked.

He nodded nervously, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I was a friend of Nate Ellison, the journalist."

"Yes?"

The man shifted from one foot to the other, his hands still in sight. "I provided information, he guaranteed my safety. Made sure no one knew who I was and what I did for him."

"And?" she asked, trying to keep her impatience tightly under control.

"I heard some rumors. Some say that the Adamas were killed and spaced here on the Orion."

She felt like a punch to the gut and she had to force herself not to show her reaction. The man went on, oblivious, "Others say one or both of them were taken to another ship. The Aurora." He shrugged. "That's all I know. I just thought it might be worth passing it on."

She nodded. "What do you want in exchange?"

"I'd really appreciate it if you could allow me to get out of here, not follow me, and allow me to live a peaceful life ever after," he said, a hint of humor in his voice.

She grimaced but nodded, gesturing to the hatch. "Going now," she said.

Once outside, she whispered to Hotdog and Helo, who were pretending to be drunk and leaning on each other, "Follow that guy without him knowing he's followed. Try to find out who he is."

Just in case they had any follow-up questions. Just in case he wasn't the innocent informant he pretended to be. Just in case her gut feeling was wrong about his honesty. Just in case it could save Apollo and Samantha's lives. Just in case…

She headed to the Raptor. She had a report to give to the Admiral, and he wasn't going to like it very much.

* * *

TBC 


	11. Part 2 Chapter 10

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 and Mick1997 for the time they spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Chapter 10

Five hours passed between Racetrack's report and the rescue operation on the Aurora. The Admiral listened to what she said, his face set in stone, then told her to take ten marines, get on board the Aurora under the pretence of looking for the saboteurs who had been wrecking havoc on the Fleet recently and find Apollo and his wife.

_Easier said than done_, she had thought, but in fact, the whole op went down surprisingly smoothly.

It only took the marines about ten minutes to clean the place, once Samantha was located. The men who had been holding her stupidly tried to fight their way out and got killed for their trouble. Idiots. What did they expect to accomplish against eleven soldiers armed to the teeth, trained to fight and intent on keeping their own safe?

Of course, men who kidnapped other people were rarely the sharpest knives on the rack.

"Sir, we have Mrs. Adama," Gunny Mathias said when Racetrack was done checking that the bad guys were dead for good and that no one required medical attention. "There's no sign of Mr. Adama."

Racetrack grimaced. Damn, she had hoped she wouldn't have to tell the Admiral that his son was still missing, and presumably held on some other ship in the Fleet, if these guys were halfway competent. They had found no sign of further suspect activity on the Aurora, which could only mean that finding Apollo was going to take some more time.

Gunny Mathias went on, an undecipherable look on her face. "She's injured, but I don't think it's too bad." Racetrack entered the room Mathias was pointing at and froze at the sight of Samantha's torn and blood stained clothes.

Samantha locked eyes with her, biting her lip. "Is Lee fine?"

"I don't know," Racetrack replied.

"My kids?"

"They're safe on the Galactica, in the Admiral's quarters, with two big, heavily armed marines guarding them."

Samantha let her head drop, muttering something Racetrack couldn't make out. Then, she looked up again. "I think I'm going to get sick."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam lost consciousness at some point between boarding the Raptor and arriving on the Galactica. When she woke up, drowsy and vaguely nauseous, she had already been patched up, changed into a hospital gown, and several IV bags were hanging over her head.

She looked around, careful not to move too much or too fast, and her eyes fell on her father-in-law, who was looking at her with his usual impassive expression. "Lee?" she asked.

She saw a flash of… something (worry? anger?) in his eyes, and he stepped closer to her bed. "We don't know anything yet."

_He's fine,_ she thought. _He's fine, he has to be. He can take care of himself, he's tough, he survived years in the military, and he won't get killed by these worthless bastards. He can outsmart them, he can buy time._

_He's fine._

"Samantha?" her father-in-law said, as if testing her name, unsure how he should call her. He tried to smile encouragingly when she looked up at him and for some reason, that sign of kindness made her burst into tears without warning.

Shit.

This was _not_ how she wanted to act in front of her father-in-law. This was not how she had wanted to see him again, either.

He patted her arm awkwardly and she started giggling at how uncomfortable the gesture obviously made him. _Frak, no wonder Lee's repressed_, she thought, and it made her laugh even harder, the laughter sometimes interrupted by uncontrollable sobs.

She heard people talking around her but she was too far gone to pay attention to what they were saying. Were they going to give her some happy drugs to get her calmed down? She tried to gain some control back but it was no use, so she just curled up on her side, hid her face into the pillow and let go.

She felt a soothing hand on her back, heard an encouraging, "You'll feel better afterwards."

She wasn't so sure, but to her own surprise, once the crisis subsided and she could breathe again, she did feel better—slightly. It was probably as good as she was likely to feel until she saw Lee alive and well again, so she was willing to take it.

"Sorry," she said, rolling over to her back again, feeling the uncomfortable pull of the stitches on her side.

The damn guy who had been playing with a knife had only given her shallow cuts at first, but he had been starting to cut deeper by the time the marines had arrived.

Lee was going to be pissed, if he— _when_ he learned about it.

And he _would_ learn about it, and he'd be angry on her behalf just as she was angry at the thought that somewhere on the Fleet, her husband was being roughed up for information he didn't have, and he'd hold her in his arms, and they'd make love and sleep in each other's arms again.

A white haired man in a lab coat was watching her—the doctor, she assumed. "Are you okay?" he asked, his tone clinical.

She nodded.

"Anything hurt?"

Everything did, but it was a distant kind of hurt thanks to what she suspected was a good amount of painkillers floating in her bloodstream. "Not much," she replied.

"Good." He took his clipboard and made a note in it (_patient shows signs of hysteria, medicate as needed?_ Sam wondered) then shot a look at the Admiral before focusing on her again. "You'll be fine. Sore for a few days, considering the bruises and the fact that you were forced into an awkward position for hours, but that'll pass. Two of the cuts required stitching, so we'll be keeping an eye out for infection. They found syringes where you were held, but there's nothing in your bloodstream to indicate that you've been drugged."

She swallowed nervously. The man had showed her the syringes. "_If you don't start talking soon, we'll see if that makes you more… compliant_." She shivered.

"Call if you need anything," the doctor ordered, and left her alone with the Admiral.

"Mark and Laura?" she asked after a tense silence. She knew they were safe, that woman—Racetrack, she remembered meeting her a few times at the bar—had told her so, but she still needed to hear it.

"They're fine. I've sent someone to wake them up and bring them here. I think we have about ten more minutes before they arrive."

She nodded, trying to look calm and collected—not that it mattered much, after that little display of hers.

Maybe one day, once it was all over and they were safe again on the Orion, with the kids safely tucked in their own beds, she and Lee would get a good laugh out of this.

She studied her father-in-law, absently noting that he looked much older than the last time she had seen him. Were his duties weighing down on him so heavily or was the estrangement between Lee and him responsible for the added lines on his face?

What was she supposed to tell this man? She knew he had hurt Lee by failing to stay in touch, but Lee himself had insisted more than once that he was as much to blame as his father for the rift between them.

The trial had only been the last straw in their relationship, after a long life of miscommunication, expectations and disappointments on both parts. She missed her own family dearly and with time, she had started, as most of the survivors, to embellish her memories of the past. She often wondered, though, how they would have held up under the pressure placed upon humans these days. She had had several bitter arguments with her father before leaving home, and it was only by chance that she had been able to talk to him one last time, about a year before the attacks, and to reach a relative peace.

But if they had both survived, would their relationship have been stronger, or would it have broken under the pressure? The divorce rate on the Fleet was reaching an all-time high, every day it seemed like an increasing number of parents decided they just couldn't deal with their kids anymore, tempers were running short all around. And these were people who had never had to order their sons to go on suicide missions, people who had never seen their fathers gunned down in front of them.

"Do you know what these men wanted?" the Admiral asked, bringing her mind back to the present.

"They thought Nate had told us what he was working on and what he did with the evidence he gathered. He didn't, so clearly, I couldn't tell them much."

"Why you and Lee?" the Admiral asked. "Nate must have had other friends."

Of course, he had. All of them were civilians, had never been involved in anything more serious than a bar fight, and were a lot easier to reach, because they didn't feel the need to be nearly as careful as Lee and Sam, and because unlike Lee, they probably wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight if someone attacked them or their family. It was the same reason why she and Lee hadn't told the kids to go to any of them, or even to Romo, who also had his fair share of enemies.

Everyone knew that neither Sam nor Nate ever talked about their job to their "civilian" friends.

Lee had finally accepted not to have a gun in their quarters when Laura had grown mobile, but he carried a knife on himself at all times and he hadn't stopped boxing and self-defense trainings—in fact, he had offered to teach what he knew to some of the civilians he met at the bar, and most of them had gratefully accepted.

A man slunk into the room and stood behind the Admiral's chair. Without turning, the Admiral said, "Saul Tigh, my XO."

_Nice to meet you_ would have seemed inappropriate, so Sam nodded and turned her attention back to the Admiral. "Yes, Nate had other friends. I work as a private investigator, and on a few occasions, I helped him to find proof of what he suspected. Lee used to act as his informant, until Laura was born. Besides, everyone knew that he was still very close to us, even if we didn't work together anymore. He was Laura's godfather."

She looked away, thinking about that last evening they had all spent together. If only she had known then…

But what could she have done? Nate had been notoriously obstinate. When he had a lead, he never let go.

"Could he have told Lee?" 

She shook her head. "I don't think so." She met the Admiral's unwavering gaze. "It's possible, I suppose," she amended, "but I really doubt it."

Maybe Nate had been afraid it would put them in danger, maybe he had just wanted to protect his exclusivity. Whatever the reason, she would have bet a lot of money on the fact that Lee was as clueless as she was about what Nate had been working on.

"Lee was trained to resist interrogation," Tigh pointed out.

Sam watched as the Admiral tensed, mirroring her own reaction. _What a nice name for it,_ she thought wryly. _Interrogation. So… official._

Tigh went on, unperturbed. "Maybe he'll be able to buy some time, send them on false leads, pretend he knows more than he does."

It was probable he would try, Sam thought. But it was nothing she hadn't tried herself, which was precisely why the frakkers had been about to try drugs.

The Admiral nodded soberly, and Sam wondered if he despised thinking about Lee in such a situation as much as she did.

She knew she was going to spend a lot of time thinking about what these men were doing to her husband, until they found him.

_He'll be fine._

_He's tough, and the XO is right; he was trained to keep it together, and he'll be fine._

"Why didn't you help that journalist on his investigation?" Tigh asked.

She shook her head. "Once Laura was born, he grew scared of having us involved."

Nate had lost his family on the Colonies. Sam and Lee were the only people he still allowed himself to be really close to, and even that was touch and go sometimes. She didn't blame him for being wary. She was scared enough for the security of her children that she had considered stopping her own business altogether.

It was both depressing and infuriating that what few humans were left couldn't rebuild a safe society, but instead insisted on showing the worst of what the human race had to offer. But such was the world they lived in, and unfortunately, it meant being prepared for the worst.

"What kind of business do you run?" Tigh asked.

Sam looked at him, amused at his turn of phrase. He barely blinked.

"Mostly people who owe other people money and want someone to negotiate their debts. Finding people who disappear over the Fleet to make a better life for themselves. Stolen goods."

"There's an official police force for that."

"Most people don't trust them," she pointed out. They preferred asking someone independent, because no one was quite sure what the leeway of the official police was, or what exactly they were bound to report to their superiors.

Judging from Tigh's face, he was well aware of the fact.

She heard a noise behind the curtain and the Admiral smiled. "Well, I think some people are here to see you."

She looked down at herself, eyed the bruises on her arms and wondered what her face looked like. "How likely is it I'll scare them?" she asked.

He studied her before smiling. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

He motioned for Tigh to step out and a few moments later, both her kids were in her arms.

She breathed in sharply and hugged them tight, praying that wherever he was, Lee was going to be fine enough to get that moment too.

"Hey," someone called. She raised her head, spotted Romo near the entrance of her cubicle and started crying again. It was going to make him damn uncomfortable, but she was past caring. And chances were, when Lee came back, they'd definitely be able to get a good laugh out of _that._

* * *

_  
TBC..._


	12. Part 3 Chapter 11

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 for the time she spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

**PART THREE**

Chapter 11

They were drugging him.

It had taken them a while to get to it, but Lee had known it was coming from the very beginning, when they had shown him syringes and several vials of a yellowish substance in a pathetic attempt to scare him. 

They said his wife was in another room near him, couldn't he hear her screams? Hating himself for caving in even that much, Lee listened but couldn't hear anything.

"Well, maybe our colleague is… done with her, then," the man interrogating him said with a sneer. He was a cliché bad guy—weren't they all?—burly and as big as any marine Lee had ever known. This, he knew, was also part of their tactics; when he had first awoken here, shackled to a bed, the man had shot him a disinterested look then left him alone, so he could ponder how hard such a man could hit. Which Lee hadn't really done, too busy worrying about his kids and wife to really wonder what was going to happen to him.

Lee tested the bonds holding his wrists to the bed, but it was useless. The spot on his thigh where they had made the injection was throbbing, since of course, they hadn't even tried to be gentle about it. All the jokes he had ever made about Cottle's bedside manner and the size of the needles he used were coming back to him and he wished he could take it back. Really, that had been _nothing_.

The room was starting to spin and Lee closed his eyes, exhausted.

If these guys had touched his wife or his kids in any way, he was…

_You're what? Going to throw up on their shoes again? Yeah, that helped, all right._

He clenched his fists, pulled at the bonds again, and tried to ignore the sick feeling that his strength was waning. How long had it been since the last time he had slept? Eaten? Drank? And in the meantime, he had been beaten, drugged, and lost some blood where the frakkers had cut him.

No wonder he felt like he could barely keep his eyes open.

No wonder he felt like he couldn't even think anymore.

So far, he hadn't said much—except for "Frak you," and a few comments about his captors' ancestry that had earned him even more blows. Of course, there wasn't much he could tell them.

Too bad Nate hadn't told anyone what he was working on. Maybe then, they would have been able to prevent this.

_Yes, sure you would have prevented it. Right. You couldn't even prevent what happened to you, or to your wife, Apollo, _Kara said, from the place in his mind where she still lived.

It had been a while since she had last spoken to him—since his wedding, probably. It was nice hearing her now, even if it was slightly unnerving to be having a discussion with his dead friend.

_Always happy to be of service,_ she snarked. _Now, why don't you stop wool-gathering and start thinking about how you're going to get out of this one?_

Lee tested his bonds in answer to her cutting tone. They didn't give any more than they had a few minutes ago.

He hated being helpless and sadly, he had used all the tricks in his book. They'd keep him alive as long as they thought he was holding out on them, as long as they mistook his ignorance for defiance. After that, however… Well, after that, he'd become useless to them, wouldn't he?

_Better start working your way out of here, then, don't you think? _

"And how do you suggest I do that?" he snapped. He tugged at the chains holding him in place. "These won't vanish without outside help."

_You'll get your chance sooner or later. Just be ready for it._

Right…

Someone entered the room, distracting Lee from the discussion. He opened his eyes long enough to see that Mister Big and Burly was back, then closed them against the harsh light above him. The light was too bright, even from behind closed eyelids, and turning his head to the side only made him dizzier.

He fleetingly wondered where his children were. He didn't think these guys had them. They would have dragged them in already and threatened to kill them to make him talk otherwise.

Had Laura and Mark reached the Galactica safely? Maybe he had been insane to tell them to go there if something happened but he hadn't known what else to do.

Thinking about Mark and Laura left alone on the Orion made him want to hit something—Mister Big and Burly's face would make a magnificent target. They were both so young… He didn't doubt that whoever they approached in the military would be nice and try to help them but damn it, he just didn't like to think about his kids on their own, and forced to take refuge on a warship to escape other humans.

In the last paper he had published, the one that had owed him the most heat from malcontents, Nate had written that the human race was growing cold in its struggle to survive. Many people on the Fleet had taken offense at the analysis, but not Lee.

There weren't so many people he would trust with the safety of his children—and even less people who had the means to keep them safe from the bullies the Fleet seemed to have attracted. The fact was that where humans should have grown closer and learned to rely on each other, everyone was drifting apart.

He just hoped his father would be able to protect Mark and Laura, even if Lee wasn't his favorite person anymore.

He wondered what the rest of his friends were thinking right now, wondered if they had been interrogated by the civilian police. Had they seen or remembered anything unusual, anything that could help him and Sam?

Romo often talked about Lee's inability to stay out of trouble for long. Imagining what his acerbic friend would say if he saw him right now sent Lee over the edge and he started laughing, softly at first then increasingly forcefully. He heard people swearing around him when he started gasping for breath, but he was too far gone to care.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Did he say anything?" someone was asking when Lee grew coherent again.

_That was one nice hysteric fit, Apollo._

_Shut up. I'm listening._

Thankfully, Kara shut up. Lee was having a hard time hearing what the people around him were saying as it was, the sounds blurry and distorted. He didn't need her comments on top of it all.

"Something about how he's sorry but he had to do it. Something about what his friends would say if they saw him now." A sigh. "Nothing useful."

Lee tried to open his eyes, only to be blinded by the light. It came back to him then; the drugs must be wearing off for now.

"Well, that's just great."

Lee felt a tugging next to his wrists and forced himself not to react.

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"They're in bad shape already," the voice retorted. "And he doesn't look like he'd go very far on his own, does he?"

No argument could be heard this time.

Lee stayed motionless as both his wrists were freed, then his ankles.

"We need to step it up. The woman was rescued five hours ago."

It took all of Lee's self-control not to react visibly at the news.

_Sam's fine, she's fine, she's fine, she's fine, _he chanted inwardly, feeling like he had just run a race. _She's fine, they don't have her anymore, she's fine—_

—_and you still have a lot to do, so listen and gather information, _Kara snapped at him.

Lee listened.

"Yeah." There was a rustle of fabric. "He should have talked by now. I think it's time we tried something different."

The voices retreated away before Lee could make out the answer.

He waited until he was sure that he was alone before opening his eyes, blinking in the harsh light and slowly pulling an arm above his eyes to shield them.

_You'll get your chance sooner or later._

He lost track of how long he stayed lying there, waiting for something to happen, trying to orient himself, before sitting up.

That act alone took too much time. He felt like pretty much every inch of him was bruised, he felt like he had just come off a three-days bender, and he didn't know whether he was going to be able to stand, much less remain standing for long.

_Just be ready for it._

Getting to his feet took even longer, and he almost collapsed on the floor when he finally managed to stand. He used the bed to help him remain upright, waited several minutes for the room to stop spinning in front of his eyes.

Then he headed to the hatch, each step seeming to take him several hours.

_Might want to hurry up, Lee._

"Can't," he said through clenched teeth.

_You're not going to get another shot at this,_ she insisted.

He heard the concern in her voice and tried to move faster. "I know," he whispered. Cautiously, he put a hand on the hatch, took a breath and pushed it open.

* * *

_  
TBC..._


	13. Part 3 Chapter 12

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 for the time she spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Chapter 12

Lee was standing in an airlock, hands tied in front of him. It was just like being in the CIC again as his father congratulated Boomer on a job well done, the hidden meaning clear—_At least, I can trust_ her.

"In all justice," his father told him, his face unreadable, "I can't treat you differently than any other of my men." He retreated, closing the hatch behind him. Lee couldn't hold back a grimace when it was sealed shut.

He refused to plead, to defend himself or to try to reason with the men on the other side of the hatch—the Commander, the XO and a couple of marines. They weren't likely to be sympathetic anyway.

He had gambled and he had lost, and that was it.

He just hadn't thought that his father would ever—

He stopped the thought. 

He wasn't dealing with his father here, he was dealing with Commander Adama and he knew what the man was capable of when pushed into a corner. Or betrayed.

His heart was beating fast, his blood roaring in his ears as he wondered what it would be like to die in space. Would he suffocate first, or freeze to death? Either way, it would hurt. He tried to imagine what it would be like to scream, and not hear the sound of it.

He knew it was likely he'd pass out in around fifteen to twenty seconds—he had read enough about it to know that most scientists agreed on that part.

Fifteen seconds could be an atrociously long time.

He closed his eyes and took a breath. There was nothing left to say or do, so he waited for his Commander to get it over with, hoping that it wouldn't last too much longer.

He was so tense, waiting for the inevitable to happen, that it took a while for the sound to register.

Someone was banging on the hatch.

He looked up to see his father's face framed into the window of the airlock hatch; he was screaming, frantically trying to push the hatch open.

"Dad?" Lee called, barely daring to hope.

Had his father changed his mind, after all?

He took a step towards the hatch and then, everything around him… dissolved.

He looked around and couldn't see anything. Space? It couldn't be. He should have been flushed out with the oxygen when the outer hatch had opened. He shouldn't be able to breathe, shouldn't be able to hear his own gasps.

He heard a scream, recognized Sam's voice.

_I'm here_, he tried to call, but no sound came out of his mouth.

He looked down at himself, but couldn't see anything anymore.

He tried to take a step back and—

—walked straight into a wall.

He bounced back from it and shook his head, dizzy, breathless. Hadn't he been dying, a few seconds before?

Why wasn't he dead?

Someone nearby was muttering, _Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay,_ the sound grating on his nerves.

A wave a dizziness washed over him and he sank to his knees, breathing in sharply, remembering the coldness in his father's eyes, the fear and hopelessness as he waited to be executed.

Where the frak had _that_ come from?

_Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay_. Lee opened his mouth to snap at whoever was talking, and the whispering stopped.

He shuddered and looked around, trying to focus. After a while, he recognized the Orion but how in the gods' names had he gotten here? He had already blacked out from drinking before, but the explanation didn't seem to fit his current situation.

_First things first,_ he thought as he pushed himself to his feet. He couldn't hold back a groan as his muscles protested and suddenly, it all rushed back—Nate's death, the bad guys, the drugs and the endless questions.

What was he doing here?

Where were the bad guys? Had he managed to escape?

He couldn't remember anything after getting out of the room where he was being held.

Did that mean that he had just walked out?

Were they looking from him?

He tensed at the thought and shot a nervous look around. 

_Yeah, might want to get on your way, Apollo, _his sarcastic inner Starbuck whispered. It seemed like a good idea so Lee took a step forward, only to stumble, his legs too shaky to hold him. He leaned on the wall, waiting for his head to clear.

A noise to his left startled him and he spun on his heels, almost face planting in the process.

He heard a surprised, "Hey," and hands on his shoulders steadied him. He jumped away from the touch, instinctively reaching for a gun he hadn't carried in over five years.

He looked up into the worried face of Scott and took a shaky breath when his vision started to dim.

"You okay?" Scott asked.

"Yeah." Lee blinked and Scott got less fuzzy around the edges. "What are you doing here?" 

Scott snorted. "I could ask you the same thing." To Lee's growing concern, Scott's voice sounded muffled, like he was talking from underwater. "Everyone's looking for you, in case you didn't know." 

Lee blinked as the colors around him faded, then came back, duller than before.

_That can't be good._

Scott took his arm. "Come on," he said.

Lee staggered, leaning on him a little. "Where?"

"My place for now. It's close to here and you need to lie down."

_Why? _Lee tried to ask. _You don't know what happened to me, you might be putting yourself in danger. _

From the look Scott gave him, the words that actually left his mouth were too garbled to understand. Lee gave up and allowed Scott to lead him away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
"Here, take these," Scott said, handing him a couple of pills and water. Lee shot them a dubious look, prompting Scott to add, "It's for the pain."

"You got your own stash?" Lee asked, though in truth, he wasn't so surprised. Scott wouldn't be the only one getting some supplies from the black market.

"What do you take me for?"

Lee hesitated, reluctant to take anything now that he was starting to get less fuzzy, more coherent. On the other hand, now that he was awake again, everything hurt—a deep, dull pain that made Lee feel cold and nauseous. He wouldn't be able to move if he didn't take something soon.

With a sigh, he swallowed the pills and accepted the water, allowing it to soothe his parched throat.

"How long has it been?" he asked.

"Two days since you disappeared," Scott replied. It had seemed a lot longer than that to Lee, but then he had always thought that time tended to stand still when he was being used as a punching bag. "You've been here for a couple of hours. I patched you up as well as I could. I don't think you have anything that needs stitching."

Lee nodded. "Thanks." 

"Anytime."

He dreaded asking, but he had to know. "Sam? I think I heard the guys say she had escaped." He just hoped that part hadn't been a hallucination.

Scott nodded. "Yeah, she's on the Galactica with your kids. Romo went over to see how they were. They won't allow anyone else to go, though. Security thing."

_Thank gods, _Lee thought. Imagining his family surrounded by a lot of heavily armed marines made something unclench in his chest and he breathed in, feeling better than he had in days.

Scott sat on the edge of the bed. For some reason, Lee couldn't help looking carefully at his every move. He knew Scott was his friend, they had known each other for years, but his gut feeling was screaming at him that he needed to be on his guard.

"What happened to you?" Scott asked. There was nothing wrong with his tone or with his attitude, nothing to explain why Lee suddenly felt like he was back in the bad guys' clutches.

"Some people want to know what Nate was working on when he was killed," Lee said.

"Did you tell them?"

Lee tensed up again as he met Scott's eyes, looking for something, anything that might give him a clue as to why he felt so wary. "Not much to say," he replied after a while.

The more he thought about it, the more his certainty that Nate must have hidden his notes somewhere safe—and taken the secret to his grave—grew.

_Hide in plain sight_, Nate's voice said, as loud and clear as if he was standing next to him.

Lee almost jumped out of his skin and had to resist the urge to look around frantically. Scott had spotted something, though.

"You should rest."

Yes, maybe he should. But why did he feel like he was missing the most important piece of the puzzle? And why did he feel so wary of someone who was supposed to be his friend?

Despite himself, Lee felt his eyelids start to droop. He tried to resist the pull of sleep but he could tell he wasn't going to win that battle.

"I tried to call the Galactica, but there's something wrong with our communications system," Scott said. "I should give it another try."

"Yeah." Lee closed his eyes, tried to gather enough energy to add, "Dangerous for you," thinking that he should warn Scott before anything happened.

He heard a distant chuckle. "Let me worry about myself, Lee. It's what I do best."

Lee sank into sleep with the unsettling feeling that he had just failed the most important test of his life.

* * *

_  
TBC..._


	14. Part 3 Chapter 13

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 for the time she spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Chapter 13

"Shouldn't I feel better?" Lee asked, his voice weak and hoarse. He tried to lift his head and take a look around but couldn't gather enough strength to do it.

Scott looked at him, compassionate. "Well, you were pretty banged up. Give yourself time."

Lee felt something prick his arm and tried to pull it away.

"Hey," Scott said softly. "I'm trying to help." He studied Lee for a moment, then added, "Don't you trust me?"

For a second, Lee saw Zak, looking at him the same way, asking him to trust him, telling him that he knew what he was doing, that he could pilot just as well as Lee did. _Don't you trust me?_

_I trusted you, Zak. But you killed yourself flying._

"Lee?"

He blinked, surprised to see Scott in front of him.

Things were getting blurry again and he felt himself sink.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"How long has it been?" Lee asked.

He didn't think he had been here very long—he could only remember falling asleep once or twice, three times at most, but surely not more than that.

"Oh, less than a day," Scott replied, smiling. "Don't worry, you're getting better."

Lee tried to test that statement by leaning up on an elbow, only to find that everything was spinning around him. He fell back to the bed, breathless.

Okay, that was worrisome.

"Hey, easy!" Scott said. "You're still pretty weak."

_I thought I was getting better_, Lee tried to say, but the words stayed stuck in his throat.

"It's just going to take some time, that's all," was the last thing he heard before falling asleep again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"He's beginning to suspect something.""I know, okay? I know."

Lee tried to turn his head away from the voices and groaned slightly. His head was pounding with each breath he took, the pain sharp and unrelenting. The voices stopped talking, then resumed when he didn't move again.

"He doesn't tolerate the drugs very well."

That voice was familiar.

Where had he heard it before?

"I keep asking him but he's not coherent enough to tell me anything useful."

Wasn't that Scott? Scott, leaning over him, asking him what he knew about Nate's papers and where he kept them.

Scott, saying that Lee could trust him, that everything was going to be all right, that they were friends.

"Well, try again."

There was a silence, then, "Maybe he really doesn't know anything. In which case..."

Lee drifted off before the man finished talking, sinking into disturbed dreams.

When he woke up, he was alone in the room and covered in cold sweat. The ghosts of the people he and Roslin had left behind, the day of the attacks, had been chasing him through endless corridors, clinging to him, begging him to help them, begging him to have some mercy, cursing him. "_I hope you people rot in hell for this._" He wondered if the person who had said that would think that life on the Fleet qualified as hell.

He could feel himself being dragged under again and he tried to resist, to sit up in bed, but he was too weak.

He tried to fight the drowsiness—he wasn't sure what was going on, but something was telling him that he needed to get out of here.

He wasn't strong enough to win the battle against unconsciousness, though.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Here, take these," Scott said.

Lee accepted the pills, noticing that his hands were shaking ever so slightly. "I don't think—" he started, wondering how many times they had played that scene already. Hadn't he already tried to tell Scott that he didn't need more drugs?

_Tell me, Lee. What did Nate tell you about the case he was working on?_

"You need them," Scott said. "You trust me, right?"

_Sure, Zak. But I shouldn't._

Scott looked taken aback and Lee wondered if he had said that out loud. "Sorry," he said, thinking he might as well say it. "I'm just tired."

_Look, I'm trying to help you here. Just tell me. You can trust me._

"I understand." Scott looked at him. "You'll feel better soon."

"Okay," Lee said.

He was more than ready for this to be over.

He was frakking tired of feeling so beat all the time.

_For gods' sake, Apollo, you're really dense, aren't you?_

"Starbuck?" he called, but he couldn't hear anything but silence.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Here, take these."

_You're right, bro. You shouldn't trust me_.

Lee dragged his eyes open. "Zak?"

"No, Lee."

He recognized Scott and tried to move away from him. He was too weak—

—_stoned, honey. You're high, and you need to stop this right now._

_Sam? I think I'm in trouble._

"Here, you need these."

_What for, damn it? So you can keep lounging around like a damn zombie? You know better. What are you waiting for?_

"Sam?"

Scott looked worried as he handed Lee the pills. "Hey, wake up!"

The raised voice brought Lee back to the present and he watched Scott's hand, a few inches from his own, the pills in it.

_Don't take them, bro. Don't be stupid. Time is running against you._

Scott was waiting so Lee nodded and took the pills.

_I'm waiting for you,_ Sam whispered near his ear.

Sam.

He needed to find Sam, and the kids.

He needed to get out of here.

"I know it's not easy," Scott said. "But it won't be much longer."

Lee put the pills in his mouth and swallowed hard, making sure to keep them stuck under his tongue, and took the water with a smile of thanks.

He waited until Scott had stepped out of the room to spit the pills back into his hand. He curled up under the covers, keeping them in his closed fist, and willed his strength to return.

_Not badly done, Apollo._

"Kara?" he whispered.

_Shut up._

He did.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lee didn't know how long he stayed in bed, either sleeping or staring into nothing, until he finally grew coherent enough to start panicking.

Scott had been keeping him drugged for… how long had it been? Days? How many times had Lee taken the pills he was given and allowed himself to fall asleep? How many times had they injected drugs into his veins? He peered at his right arm, noticing faint bruises.

_Trust me, Lee. _

How long until Scott stopped trying to win his trust?

_It'll be fine._

He needed to get out of here before Scott and whoever was with him decided he had outlasted his usefulness.

_About damn time, Lee._

"Shut up, Zak. I'm thinking."

_Think faster. Think in silence, too._

He had to escape now, while he still could.

And then...

Well, then, he'd try to reach the landing deck and see if anyone could take him to the Galactica. If that didn't work, there must be plenty civilian police officers around; hopefully, Lee would manage to talk to one of them and explain what was happening.

_There, see. You already have a plan A and a plan B. Now, why don't you move?_

He took a few deep breaths, pushed himself up on an elbow and listened. These were standard quarters aboard the Orion—a living room, separated from the bedroom by a hatch. No space to cook, but since these were apparently high-paying quarters, the bathroom was included.

He couldn't hear anything from the living room.

Had Scott left him here alone, confident that the drugs would keep him under for several more hours?

_Only one way to find out, honey, isn't there?_

He slowly sat up, waited a few moment before trying to get to his feet. The room was tilting alarmingly but eventually, the universe stopped spinning and things gained their edge back. He took several deep breaths before taking a step away from the bed.

It was almost funny; once upon a time, he ended up in these stupid situations because of his job. Now, he was a bartender and he had been abducted because he had been friends with a nosy journalist who had obviously found something people really didn't want anyone to know.

Ah, well, when he saw Sam again, they'd have a good laugh about the way the universe kept throwing them into these situations.

He opened the hatch carefully, taking on a stoned look. _Should anyone ask, you have no idea where you are and you're drugged to the gills,_ he told himself, wondering if he could pull that off. He had never been much of an actor.

Of course, he had learned long ago that people could do all kinds of things when sufficiently scared or in trouble.

There was no one in the living room.

_This is way too easy._

Maybe, but on the other hand, once away from the quarters, he stood a better chance at escaping the bad guys than he did in here. He might be able to outrun someone for a short while, hopefully long enough to attract attention and call for help. Fighting off anyone was out of the question. He may have been able to take on Mark, but even that wasn't for sure, he thought grimly, worried about how drained he was already starting to feel.

He slunk out in the hallway, looking both ways to make sure no one was waiting for him.

No one was—or rather, no one seemed to be.

He put a few feet between him and Scott's quarters before going to the next phase of the plan and heading to the flight deck.

He spared a moment to bemoan the fact that he couldn't move faster but didn't allow himself to dwell on it. Later, when there was time, he'd take some time to freak out at how damn out of it he felt.

The most direct way to the flight deck lead him to the memorial wall. Lee walked past the pictures of people long gone, people only remembered by their loved ones, now reduced to symbols of what had happened to humankind.

_Hide in plain sight, Lee. That's the way to go._

He stopped walking, startled.

_You know how it goes. It's easier to hide in a city of several thousand people than in the woods, and believe me, if you need to hide something, put it right in front of the eyes of everyone. No one will ever believe you've been stupid enough to do that._

He would have smiled at the memory if it hadn't been so bitter now that Nate was dead. How long ago had they had this discussion? One year? Two?

_Hide in plain sight._

Lee shook his head, disturbed. Why was it coming back to him now?

He looked around.

_Hide in plain sight._

No one would have thought twice to see Nate linger here. Some people spent hours walking along the wall, praying for the dead.

_Hide in plain sight, Lee. _

Each colony had an assigned space on the wall. On a hunch, Lee headed straight to the pictures from the Picon colony—Nate had spent most of his life on Picon—and he scanned the wall for a picture that might look familiar. He didn't know how long he stared at the smiling faces of strangers—entire families, now blown to dust, light years away—until his eyes fell on Nate's face. He startled, taken aback by the smile on his friend's face, the way his eyes shone on the picture. Lee had never seen him like that; of course, they had met each other after the end of the world. There hadn't been that many reasons to be happy since then.

He looked around, didn't spot anyone—it must have been the dead of the night for it to be so quiet—and unhooked the picture, smiling when he saw that it covered an envelope taped to the wall.

_Hide in plain sight, Nate,_ he thought.

He debated opening the enveloped there and then, if only so he could know why he had been abducted and held prisoner. As he was about to, something hard pressed on his back. "Well done, Lee. I knew you'd figure it out."

* * *

_  
TBC..._


	15. Part 3 Chapter 14

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 for the time she spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Chapter 14

Lee started, fists clenching before it fully registered that there was a gun pointed at him, digging painfully into his back, against his spine.

Damn, he had really hoped his gut feeling was wrong.

Scott, who looked so much like Zak, who was so young and easy-going, hadn't struck him as a potential killer. Of course, Lee had already proven to be a poor judge of character in the past; he hadn't seen that Boomer was a machine, he hadn't seen that Kara was suicidal, and those were only two examples of his inability to really read people.

"Scott," he said, relieved that his voice sounded steady.

Surprise and weariness were slowly giving way to anger. He welcomed it, knowing it would give him a much needed edge.

_Did you kill Nate yourself, Scott? All that time we spent together, you took Sam in your arms at the funeral, I let you near my kids, damn it, and you were working with these guys all along?_

_Did you kill Nate yourself? Your friend? Someone you once looked up to—or were you just pretending all along?_

"Hand it over," Scott said, his voice low. He sounded more scared than Lee felt. Subdued, too, but Lee didn't trust that not to be an act.

He thought back about Nate and the last night they had all spent together, laughing around their rations and thinking about the future. "After this one, I'll retire and do something else with my life," Nate had said.

"Build a new life in a sunnier environment?" 

"You bet!"

He thought about Mark and Laura, crying when Lee had told them that Nate wouldn't be coming back.

Whatever was in these papers was important enough that he and Sam had been tortured for information.

Whatever was in these papers, Nate had died for it.

In one swift move, Lee threw the envelope away from him and spun, the movement surprising Scott enough that his grip weakened on the gun. That split second hesitation was all Lee needed.

He knocked the gun out of Scott's hand, his eyes automatically following it to check where it landed, then gathered his strength and punched his friend.

It would have slowed Scott down if Lee hadn't been so weakened after several days spent lying on a bed, drugged to the eyelids.

As it was, Scott merely took a step back, frowning. "Lee," he started. "You don't understand…"

Okay, so, lingering here to find Nate's notes had been a terminally stupid idea. He got it already. "Don't understand what?" he asked, stalling.

Scott swallowed, looking like a kicked puppy—a kicked puppy that had been holding a gun pointed at Lee not two minutes ago, and who was still standing between Lee and said gun. "I didn't—" Scott started. He fumbled, started again. "Look, these men, I don't agree with what they're doing, but believe me, they're dangerous. There's just… Lee, there's nothing to gain by standing up to them."

_Nothing to be gained by trying to save your friend's life, Scott?_ "Did you kill Nate?"

Scott stared at him, shock written all over his features. "No!" he said, almost pleadingly. "How could you even think…"

"Well, you drugged me, and held me at gunpoint for a while there." _Speaking of guns…_

Lee threw a punch in Scott's direction, forcing him to step back, and ran to the gun, aware that Scott was following him.

_Oh, yes, Scott, you're so very remorseful._

Lee _needed_ the frakking weapon if he was going to survive.

Desperation gave him the edge he needed and he made it with two seconds to spare. He dove and lost his footing, managed to twist and landed on his ass, grabbing the gun. He spun back, aiming the gun straight at Scott's face.

They faced each other, chests heaving.

"You have no idea what you got into, Lee," Scott said. "These people, believe me, they're dangerous. They—"

Lee cut him off. "Don't tell me what they're capable of, please."

Scott looked an odd mixture of defiant and terrified. Under any other circumstances, Lee might have felt sorry for him. Maybe. As it was, however, all he could manage was fury—and just as well. It was probably the only thing that kept his hand relatively steady on the gun.

"And now what?" Scott asked.

"How about you put your hands up, for a start?"

Scott looked at him, hesitating. "They'll be here soon, anyway."

Lee's hand tightened against the gun.

"No, they won't," someone said behind him. "And how about you actually put your hands up, like the man asked?"

Lee turned his head toward the familiar voice, to see both Racetrack and Erin Mathias pointing guns at Scott. Behind them, three marines were covering the scene. His gaze went back to Scott just in time to see him raising his hands, his eyes now closed. He looked like he was about to cry.

Racetrack approached Lee, crouched next to him. "Want to give me that thing?" she asked, her hand hovering above the gun.

"I'd rather not," he said, but didn't resist when she took it from his hand.

Once the gun was secured, one of the marines moved in and handcuffed Scott before patting him down. Lee stared at the scene, transfixed. Adrenaline was wearing down, leaving him shaky and exhausted.

"Lee, you've got to understand," Scott said, as he was being manhandled away. "I didn't have a choice, they would have come after me!"

Lee didn't bother to reply.

"I'm not brave like you and the others are," Scott tried again.

_I'm not brave, _Lee thought, feeling like he was going to throw up.

Racetrack hovered near him as Mathias gathered the envelope and Nate's picture, that had fallen to the ground.

Lee leaned against Racetrack without thinking, all energy draining from him, and he felt her shift to support him better.

"Sam? The kids?" he asked.

"All fine aboard the Galactica." She pushed him away gently and studied his face, frowning at what she saw. He supposed he must look like crap, if how he felt was any indication. "Come on. I'm sure they'll be glad to see you. And the Admiral, too."

After a beat, Lee asked, "How is he doing?" 

"Worried sick. How do you think?" When he didn't reply, she helped him to his feet and guided him to the landing deck. They boarded the Raptor, and Lee collapsed on the first seat he found, closed his eyes and drifted off.

* * *

_  
TBC..._


	16. Part 3 Chapter 15

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 for the time she spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Chapter 15

It took Lee a while to convince Cottle that he didn't need to stay in sickbay for the night. The fact that Lee wasn't military anymore and that Cottle couldn't technically order him around probably had a lot to do with the fact that the man didn't just strap him down to a bed and leave him there.

"Go take a shower while we analyze your blood," Cottle merely said. "_If_ I'm happy with the results, you'll be free to go. Otherwise, you will be staying here for the night, and that's it." He left without giving Lee a chance to protest.

Lee took what he could get and headed to the sickbay bathroom. The shower was bliss after so much time spent in the same clothes and he enjoyed it as long as he could, resisting the urge to scrub himself raw to erase the feeling of strange hands on him. He couldn't find a razor, but considering how damn good he felt after the shower, that was almost okay. Someone had left scrubs near the sink and taken away his clothes while he was in the shower, so Lee put them on and made his way back to Cottle's office.

Sam was waiting for him there and she stood when he entered. Lee let out a breath when he saw her, finally convinced that she really was fine.

"Are you all right?" they both asked at the same time.

They smiled ruefully and Sam nodded. "Fine. Just worried sick about you."

"Right back at you," he said, drinking in the sight of her. There were fading bruises on her face and her forearms, and he assumed that the rest of her looked pretty much the same. He felt a wave of anger wash through him and he didn't try very hard to push it down.

He took her hand and pulled her toward him. Neither of them was big on public displays of affection, but the circumstances were unusual and it felt good to feel her body against his.

They stood in each other's arms until someone coughed, startling them back to the present.

"You're fine," Cottle told Lee, entering the office. "There are traces of drugs in your system, so I don't want to see you doing anything strenuous any time soon. I'd really rather keep you here for the night." Lee couldn't hide his grimace at the prospect; he couldn't imagine many things worse than having to stay here—it was too close to how he had spent the last few days, stuck on a bed at the mercy of strangers. Cottle nodded with something like sympathy in his eyes. "But provided you take it slow, I don't see any reason why you should occupy a bed here." He shot a look at Lee. "Report anything unusual, come back tomorrow around noon so we can check your blood again. Sleep."

He left without waiting for a reply. "Thanks," Lee called to the doctor's departing back.

"Weird man," Sam muttered once Cottle was out of earshot.

Lee nodded, even though Cottle's abrasive manner was the least of his worries. "Did they hurt you?"

She smiled bravely. "Bruises, cuts. It's mostly healed by now." She studied him for a moment, probably taking in the reminders of what had been done to him. "You?"

"Bruises, cuts, drugs." He shrugged. Most of the pain had faded to a distant ache; if he hadn't been bone-tired, he would have felt mostly normal.

"I was scared for you," Sam said in a low voice. "Knowing you were out there…"

"Right back at you," he said again. He considered telling her that he hadn't been alone, that he'd had Zak and Kara, and even her, to help him, but decided against it.

He probably should have felt more worried than he did at how many people lived inside him, but the truth was, it was reassuring to feel their presence. As long as they were talking to him, it meant that they were still alive, somewhat.

How many people on the Fleet were haunted by their ghosts?

"You with me?" Sam asked, nudging him gently.

"Yeah." He shook himself. "The kids?"

"I left them in the quarters your father provided for us." She looked an odd mixture of amused and incredulous as she added, "He was arriving to stay with them when I left. We both thought it would be better for them to be with someone they knew; that's why he didn't come down here."

Lee tried to picture his father playing with his kids, and failed. "How is he?"

"Fine, I think. He'll probably breathe easier when he sees you, though."

Lee nodded, taking the hint, and followed her through the once-familiar maze of hallways. Most of the military they met shot them curious looks, though some people nodded at him with a smile. A few pilots he saw regularly at the bar smiled and waved, calling, "Nice to have you back."

He smiled back, feeling even more out of place than when he had first arrived the day of the attacks, what now felt like a lifetime ago.

Sam squeezed his hand to catch his attention and nodded to a hatch.

Lee took a deep breath before entering. He and his father didn't have the best track record at being in the same room and remaining civil to each other, and their relationship had never been worse than it was now.

And yet, his father had taken care of his family, no questions asked. Lee tried not to think too hard about what it might mean, but he felt more confident about their chances at patching things up than he had before all this happened.

The scene that met him inside wasn't the one he had expected. His father was sitting, a book in hand, Laura on his knees and Mark at his side, leaning on him, reading to them in that deep voice that Lee remembered so well from his own childhood.

Then, Laura spotted him and screamed, "Daddy!" jumping to the ground and running to Lee, who bent down on one knee to hug her. He didn't feel strong enough to lift her up like he usually would have done, but before she could wonder about that, Mark was approaching and Lee was putting his free arm around his shoulder. "You all right?" he asked.

He felt his son nod against him. "We did what you told us to do," he said. "We came here."

Lee met his father's eyes over the boy's head. "I know. You did very good, both of you."

Sam broke the moment, leaning over them all. "Come on, now, kids. Your dad has to rest." They followed her without protest, leaving Lee alone with his father for the first time in over a year.

His father rose from his seat as Lee stood up and for a moment, they faced each other in silence. Lee couldn't think of anything to say. _How have you been?_ seemed inadequate, considering the circumstances. _Everything _seemed inadequate, considering the circumstances.

Then, his father closed the distance between them in two steps and drew Lee into a hug, holding him tight—as tight as he had the day of the attacks.

"Are you all right, son?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Lee nodded, returning his father's embrace with a fierceness that surprised him. "Yeah. You?"

His father pulled away and Lee reluctantly let go. He couldn't help feeling relieved when his father kept an arm on his shoulder. "Better now."

Lee smiled. _So far, so good. _

"Racetrack told me roughly what happened. She's with Saul, studying Nate Ellison's papers. You should get some sleep. We can deal with the rest of it tomorrow."

Lee didn't protest, just made his way to the bed, not caring that his father saw him flop down on it without even taking off his shoes.

The last thing he heard before falling asleep was his father's voice saying, "Rest, now."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lee felt both wildly out of place and right at home, sitting in front of his father's desk. It paralleled their relationship nicely; things were both awkward and comfortable between them, but considering what had happened, that was to be expected. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed his father until they'd had this opportunity to talk again. He just hoped neither of them would screw it up.

"Names, places for future sabotages, evidence of their whereabouts… It's certainly not all of them, but it's a huge start," his father was saying.

Lee nodded, thinking that Nate must have known, the last time they had seen each other, that his life was in danger. If only he had told someone, maybe they would have been able to protect him. Every new life lost was such a waste, such a blow for what remained of humanity.

Lee had told Tigh, his father and their head of security what little he knew; he suspected that they had already started arresting people based on the evidence.

He sighed softly. It wasn't like the Cylons needed any help kicking humans' butts. Why were these people turning on their own people, on top of it?

"Your friend keeps insisting that he wasn't involved in the sabotages," his father added. "He's been cooperative, but he claims he doesn't know much. From what he says, they threatened him so he'd help them reach you and—"

"He's not my friend," Lee threw in. He didn't want to hear any more of Scott's excuses. He didn't want to even thing about Scott again.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?"

Lee thought about the hallway, about Scott's apparent fear and reluctance.

He thought about Scott running to the gun, hot on his heels.

He thought about Scott handing him pills, asking him to trust him—and Lee trusted him, damn it!

Still, maybe Scott was telling the truth. Maybe the saboteurs had coerced him into trying to get information out of Lee. Maybe they had been convincing enough that Scott had cooperated as well as he could.

"He says he saved your life," his father said pensively. "He says they wanted to… kill you." The hesitation was barely noticeable, but Lee heard it loud and clear. "He says he convinced them to wait, convinced them to let him to deal with you."

"I don't know," Lee said. He didn't bother to add that he didn't care. Even if Scott had really saved Lee's life, he had still betrayed him—betrayed all of them. "I don't want to know."

"Did you see Cottle?" his father asked, changing tracks.

Lee nodded absently. "Yeah. He says the drugs are almost gone, and I still need to take it easy." Funny how, even though he had basically slept through the whole thing, he still felt like staying in bed for several more days.

"I miss having you around," his father said out of the blue, surprising Lee. "It hasn't been the same."

Once upon a time, Lee would have snapped, "Whose fault is it?" and left in a huff. But things had changed, and he readily admitted that his father must have been hurt when he sided with Romo. He must have seen it as another way for Lee to reject him, just like Lee interpreted his father's silence over the last year as an attempt to pretend he didn't even have a son.

"I would have thought it would do wonders for your blood pressure," he said, only half joking. Gods knew the two of them had a lot of practice at driving each other insane.

His father smiled sadly. For the first time, Lee noticed how old he looked. How long was he going to be able to lead them, to command this ship? His father was a force to be reckoned with, but he was only human. Sooner or later, he would have to slow down, if not stop completely. "It's a relief not having to send you on dangerous missions anymore and then have to wait to see if you'll live through it," he said. "But I miss having my son around."

_You sure have a funny way of showing it, Dad._ Once again, he blamed the Adamas' legendary stubbornness. There was no reason why they shouldn't be able to have a relationship, even if Lee wasn't a soldier anymore. "I tried!" he pointed out, his tone harsher than he would have liked. "But every time we try to talk, we end up mad at each other, and then..." _And then the President died and you even stopped replying when I contacted you. Are you as tired of this as I am? How many more second chances do you think we'll have at making this work?_

His father hung his head. "I know." He didn't add anything, no explanations or excuses, and that, more than anything, calmed Lee. 

_I'm not Zak, am I, Dad? He was the easy one and he didn't survive. You got the argumentative, pigheaded son, and you don't know what to make of him. _

The thought hurt, but Lee knew that his brother had been a lot easier to like—to love—than he was; his stubbornness, his anger, his principles and his willingness to sacrifice everything to uphold them stood in the way too often.

"I missed you too," he told his father. "I want you to be part of my life, I want my kids to know their grandfather, but I'm not going to apologize for anything I did." _And I won't beg either. I'm sorry._ "I did what I thought was right." _Just like you taught me._

He got to his feet, stiffly. "Thank you for taking care of the kids," he said. He smiled. "They adore you, you know." His father nodded, seemingly at a loss for words. "You know where to find me," he said, terrified that his father wouldn't hear the unspoken invitation. He forced himself to add, "I'd like to see you sometimes," hoping that it would be enough.

He beat a hasty retreat, heart pounding in his ears. His father's voice stopped him as he reached the hatch. "Lee?" He froze, waiting.

"Are you…?" His father trailed off, but Lee turned to look at him and saw the question in his eyes.

"Yes, Dad." _I'm fine. _

* * *

_  
TBC..._


	17. Epilogue

**Title** : Long Time Coming

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG-13

**Summary :** It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.

**Spoilers** : Everything aired so far is fair game.

**Disclaimer **: The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**AN**. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in _Crossroads II_.

**AN2**. Eternal gratitude to joey51 for the time she spent beta'ing this!

* * *

**Long Time Coming**

Helen C.

Epilogue

Bill wasn't afraid of going to the Orion. Not really.

After all, the worst that could happen was getting into yet another fight with Lee. It wasn't like they hadn't been through that countless times already.

It wasn't like he was taking a big risk.

It wasn't like his son had disappeared again—that had been a lot more terrifying. Not knowing if Lee was even alive, knowing that he might die thinking that Bill didn't care… He shook off the thought. He had been given a second chance—the second chance he had prayed for while they were looking for Lee. He wasn't going to waste it now.

He wondered how Lee dealt with raising his kids, how he faced the thought that he could lose them anywhere, anyhow—a sabotage, a Cylon attack, a sickness. With what little resources they had left, _everything_ had become an issue.

From what he had seen, though, it didn't seem to stop his son from being close to Mark and Laura. He pictured the way Lee had knelt down to hug his children, how he had managed to make them feel safer with only a few words.

When was the last time Bill had made Lee feel safe, and _loved_?

_You're a coward. You lost Zak, then Kara, and so you drove your last remaining child away so you wouldn't have to be too close, so it wouldn't be so painful when he went._

As always Carolanne's words stung.

As always, they also rang like the truth.

Being estranged from Lee hadn't made things easier when his son had vanished; on the contrary, it had only made Bill regret all the things he hadn't said when he had the chance.

When was the last time he had shown his son that he loved him, that he was proud of him?

The only thing he was sure of was that it had been a long time ago.

_Too long for Lee to forgive?_

There was only one way to find out.

Bracing himself, he made a call to Tyrol and asked that a Raptor be prepared for immediate departure.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lee didn't wait for his father to step into the bar. Not really.

If he started to wait, he'd start to hope, and he didn't want to be disappointed again. If the gap between them was too large to bridge… well, that would be it.

They had already amply proven that loving each other wasn't enough to cultivate a relationship. Maybe things were broken beyond repair between them. Lee dearly hoped that wasn't the case, though.

_You could always take the first step_, he reminded himself. But he had put the ball in his father's court; all he could do now was wait and see what his father would do.

_Says who? _

"You keep watching that door. Waiting for someone?" Frank asked, startling Lee. The night was quiet and the two of them had too much time to think and talk as the patrons slowly worked their way through their drinks.

"No," Lee said, but he couldn't help shooting another glance to the hatch, just in case. This was getting ridiculous. He wasn't twelve, and there was no reason why his father showing up, or not, should matter.

A throng of people arrived then and for a while, Lee focused solely on the task at hand—take orders, deliver orders; just like the army, minus the uniforms, the firefights, the explosions and the fear.

It still struck him as funny that his once vague pipe dream about opening a bar had come true, in some ways. He may not own the place, but it was almost better. He got to pilot the Orion every once in a while—the captain had asked him if he wanted to learn to fly it shortly after he had settled here and Lee had jumped at the chance. It wasn't the same thing as a Viper, but it was still flying.

_Best of both worlds_, he thought. Flying, helping people in his own way, and spending time with the kids…

Granted, sometimes, friends of his found leads to the names of saboteurs, and he and Sam got kidnapped and held prisoner and beat up and drugged, but all in all, those days were fairly rare.

And of course, there was always the problem of his relationship with his father—still painful, even after all this time.

"Lee?" Frank nudged him. "I think the guy you were waiting for is here."

Lee looked up and noticed his father at the entrance of the bar, glancing around hesitantly. The noise level dropped by a few decibels as people noticed the Commander of the Fleet joining them.

Lee opened his mouth and Frank said, beating him to the punch, "I know, I know, you're taking a break."

Lee smiled, filled two glasses of ambrosia, and made his way to his father. He gestured to a table in a corner. "It'll be a little quieter over there," he said.

His father followed him without a word.

For a long while, they said nothing, eyeing each other and taking careful sips of their drinks.

"This is awkward," Lee offered after a while.

His father smiled. "Yes." He set his glass down. In typical fashion, he went straight to the point. "I was furious at you for the trial, for Laura."

It surprised Lee a little to hear his father admit it. They usually reacted to crises by pretending they hadn't happened. But then, that way of dealing (or rather, that way of not dealing) with their problems hadn't served them so well in the past.

"I did go see Laura," Lee said. "She asked me over to Colonial One, a few days before she got herself admitted to sickbay."

He didn't like to remember the once vibrant woman that way—reduced to a shell of her former self—but he didn't regret going, even if the conversation had been difficult.

He could still remember her eyes when she told him, "I forgive you," just as he was about to leave. "It's very nice of you, ma'am, but I didn't ask for your forgiveness," he had replied.

She had laughed then, the rich laugh quickly dissolving into a coughing fit. "That's pretty much what I told your father, when he joined us on Kobol," she had said once she had found her voice again. "I didn't feel I wanted forgiveness for following my heart. But it was still nice to hear it."

"Yes," Lee had replied. "It's still nice to hear it. Thank you."

"Have a good life, Captain Apollo," she had said, and he had leaned down and kissed her cheek, and left before he could realize that he would never see her again.

"I didn't know that," his father said, bringing him back to the present.

Lee looked around and met Frank's eyes. Frank was trying to observe them both from the bar, and he wasn't trying very hard to be subtle about it.

"You didn't even try to defend yourself when I came to see you that day," his father said.

"No, I didn't," Lee said softly. "I shouldn't have to defend myself against you." His father actually flinched at the words and Lee looked down at his glass. If he didn't want to make things worse than they already were, he should probably be honest. "I was mad at you too. I always thought you were fair, but in the end, you weren't, when it mattered."

His father closed his eyes. "Baltar betrayed us all to the Cylons."

_And he lost his mind over it,_ Lee thought. _In the end, Baltar built his own prison._ He wasn't going to argue the point, though. He had made his feelings clear enough during the trial.

His father set his glass down and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "The days when we didn't know where you were, or if you were even still alive…" He shook his head, looking frighteningly old.

It was in that moment that it dawned on Lee that he was the last one. His mother, his brother, Kara—all dead. He had always known he was the last one, but it was only now, seeing his father's face, that it hit him—how scared of being left alone his father was.

"Well, it's loads of fun for me when the Fleet jumps to safety and leaves the Galactica behind to fend off the Cylons," Lee said.

His father looked up in surprise, then nodded thoughtfully.

_Yeah, looks like we're in the same boat here, Dad._

_And where does that leave us? Are we going to continue like we have for the past five years, ignoring each other in the hope that it hurts a little less when one of us dies? _"There are days where I want nothing more than to hide and pretend I don't have kids—kids who could die on me at any time." It took him a while to realize that he had spoken the words out loud.

"I understand that," his father replied after a pause. "I'm not sure how things are supposed to go now."

Lee shrugged. "I'm not sure they're supposed to go anywhere special," he admitted. The fact that his father had bothered to show up at all made him feel… well, all kinds of things he wasn't ready to address.

There were a lot of things he and his father weren't ready to address. Still, they had to start somewhere. Lee took a breath, leaned back to get more comfortable and asked, "So, how was your day?"

His father snorted, but to Lee's relief, he started to talk. 

* * *

_  
_end


End file.
